


The Best Laid Plans

by goodbye2pisces



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, Awesome Donna Noble, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Romance, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbye2pisces/pseuds/goodbye2pisces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A baby story Doctor/Donna style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

These days Donna is feeling very pregnant indeed. Coming up on her 38th week she feels as if she’s up to her armpits in baby, like if she dares to sneeze, a little foot might come tumbling out of her mouth. 

She sighs and squints in the grey morning light at the snowy landscape rushing past the window. The Doctor lays spooned against her back, his arm casually draped over her hip and his slender fingers splayed over her swollen belly. 

He’s been sleeping a lot lately. If Donna didn’t know better she might think he’s engaging in some sort of weird Time Lord nesting behaviour. Storing up on sleep like a battery, so that he can spend every night walking the floor with the baby after he’s born. 

Then again it may be the motion of the train. The steady rhythmic clacking of the cars speeding over the rails is semi-hypnotic and seems to be lulling the baby to sleep as well. He’s usually the most active when Donna is trying to sleep, but his movements have been oddly subdued this night.

She wonders if she should be worried. She sits up and lays her hands on the white tee stretched to the limit over her warm belly. She closes her eyes, reaching out with her mind to the little life growing inside her, traveling along the connection that the Doctor opened between them months earlier. 

He’s just sleeping. She nudges him gently with her mind and he wakes. Donna opens her eyes and lifts her shirt to find the imprint of his tiny hand pressed against her belly. She smiles and covers it with her own.

“Hello little one,” she murmurs.

“All right?” the Doctor asks, with a yawn.

“I have to pee again,” Donna says, sheepishly. 

She pulls her shirt down and rises awkwardly from the bed, walking with as much dignity as she can muster to the tiny bathroom. Much to her chagrin, she’s started waddling recently and she’s very much aware of the Doctor’s amused eyes silently tracking her as she leaves the room.

She catches sight of herself in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door after she’s through peeing. She’s wearing a pre-pregnancy tee, but it had fit the last time she’d worn it, well it had covered her belly anyway. Now there’s a wide swath of exposed skin between it and the drawstring of her pyjama bottoms. 

“God,” she mutters, futilely tugging on the edge of her shirt to try to cover herself. She finally just gives up and turns in front of the mirror, studying her profile in growing despair. She’s quite simply, enormous. A hippo in flannel. Her shallow bellybutton has popped under the pressure of her expanding belly and the baby feels as if he’s laying right up against her skin, making her feel as if she’s about to explode. She’s not due for another two and a half weeks and doesn’t know how she’ll be able to hold out until then without going completely insane.

She feels tears begin to prick her eyes and in lieu of a full-fledged hormonal meltdown, opts to take a shower instead. If nothing else, the hot water should help soothe her aching back. She strips then finds she has to pee again before stepping into the steaming cascade of water, laying her head on her arms against the wall. The baby in her belly kicks insistently, as the warm droplets fall on her back. 

A moment later, the Doctor steps into the shower behind her.

“Do my back?” Donna asks, handing him a washcloth. She does her best to hide the tremulous near sob in her voice, but the Doctor hears it anyway.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, wrapping his arms around her, his shaggy head draped over her shoulder.

“I’m a house,” she cries, turning to sob pitifully against his chest. She’d meant to be philosophical about it, maybe even a little wry, but yet again her hormonal body has betrayed her with tears.

“You’re not a house,” the Doctor says, his voice reassuring.

“I’m a planet,” she sniffs, “it’s just a matter of time before small moons become attracted to me.”

He says nothing, just rests his chin on the top of her head as he draws her close to him, then he washes her hair. 

He takes the bottle of shampoo from the shelf, pours a small amount into his hand and slowly begins working it through her thick hair. She’s not sure why it works, but it always does. Something about his nimble fingers gently massaging her scalp soothes her. Donna closes her eyes, relaxing against him as his long fingers slowly and patiently move through her hair. 

He tilts her chin up with one soapy finger and kisses her. Their lips part and the kiss deepens as their bodies begin to respond to one another, hot water flowing over them as the Doctor’s cool hands caress her face. 

“I don’t know about small moons,” he whispers huskily in her ear, “but _I’m_ certainly attracted to you.” He’s standing there looking at her with his ancient brown eyes as if she’s the only other person in the entire universe. 

They move into the bedroom, naked and warmly slick with water. The Doctor sits on the bed, his back against the wall beneath the window and Donna lowers herself onto him, inhaling with familiar pleasure as he enters her. His hands caress her softly curved back as she leans against him, her wet hair tumbling like a silken waterfall across his shoulder. They settle into a gentle rhythm of relaxed love making, moving together as if they were made solely for one another. The Doctor stares into Donna’s eyes as if he can’t quite believe she’s real and she smiles, holding his stubble covered face in her hands as she kisses him.

Afterwards they lay together on the damp sheets, Donna on her back with the Doctor’s cool hands caressing her slowly rising and falling belly, his ear pressed to it as he listens intently to the baby growing inside. She smiles as she runs her fingers through his softly disheveled hair.

“What’s he saying?” she asks.

“He’s telling me how much he’s looking forward to meeting his mum,” the Doctor says, lifting his head to look at her, “not that I can blame him.”

Donna smiles as he returns to his silent contemplation of her belly, his fingers idly tracing the rim of her convex bellybutton.

“Doctor,” she says after a moment.

“Hmmm?”

“I’m starving, and it’s getting really hard to breathe in this position.”

He looks up with a wry smile and kisses her belly. “Come on mum,” he says, hopping out of the bed and helping Donna up, “let’s get some breakfast into you.”

They shower again, separately this time. Donna dries her hair while the Doctor shaves. She pulls on a pair of loose maternity jeans and a lovely rose coloured blouse, gathered at the sleeves and under the breasts in a high empire waist to accommodate her burgeoning belly. It’s much snugger than she remembers it being when she’d last worn it. It’s practically form fitting now, hugging her belly all the way down to the hem that just barely covers the elastic waistband of her jeans.

She tugs on the blouse a few times, tears threatening to flow again. This trip isn’t doing much for her self-esteem as she now suspects the TARDIS has been secretly altering her clothes while she’s been sleeping to spare her feelings. She sits down on the bed. She can’t even sit properly anymore. The bed is too soft and she has to hold her arms out for support to keep from pitching backwards onto it.

The Doctor emerges from the bathroom fully dressed in his brown suit with the blue pinstripes, towelling off his hair. He takes one look at Donna’s face and sits down next to her on the edge of the bed. 

“On a scale from one to ten,” he says, putting his arm around her and hugging her close, “how much do you hate me right now?”

Donna’s mouth quirks slightly in response. “About a five,” she says, turning to tearfully nuzzle his neck. “Slightly less than I did when I was throwing up for four months straight,” she murmurs, “slightly more than I did when my clothes still fit and everyone told me I was glowing.” 

“You’re _still_ glowing,” he says.

“Only with sweat,” she says ruefully. She grimaces slightly at what feels like a foot wedged in her ribs, squirming uncomfortably until the baby shifts position and she’s able to breathe normally again. “Honestly, it’s ridiculous how useless I’ve become,” she sniffs, “what good am I to you? Can’t even run properly anymore.”

The Doctor smiles and kisses her on the forehead. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll slow down so you can catch up.” 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a packet of tissues. Donna dabs her tearful eyes and blows her nose while he ties her trainers for her, lifting first one foot and then the other into his lap. Her entire belly ripples when the baby turns, his movements becoming increasingly apparent as he grows larger and the space inside her diminishes.

“How big is he now?” she asks, laying her hand on a sudden bulge, a knee, or an elbow maybe. 

“Around seven pounds, give or take,” the Doctor says, adding his hand to hers. Donna takes it in both of hers and guides it along her belly to the spot where the baby’s insistent movements pucker her skin. “They grow the most right towards the end,” he says, grinning now, “nearly time for this little one to make his debut.”

Donna swallows, her mouth suddenly dry.

“All right?” the Doctor asks her.

“Fine,” she nods. Maybe if she tells herself that often enough, she’ll even start to believe it. 

He gives her a somewhat doubtful look, but wraps his arms around her anyway, resting his chin on the top of her head. Donna sighs, soothed by the sound of his twin heartbeats as she lays her head against his chest. 

Her stomach growls, loudly, and the Doctor suddenly chuckles.

“Right, breakfast,” he says, springing to his feet to help Donna up.

She has to pee again. The Doctor waits while she goes, then he slides the door open and they step out into the corridor together, walking hand in hand towards the dining car. 

The train is small, just five cars long. There are eight other passengers aboard, not all of them human. Donna and the Doctor were chatting with a cat couple just the night before at dinner. 

It’s early for breakfast. When they enter the dining car, there are only two other people inside, an elderly woman wearing a little pillbox hat and a sullen looking teenager listening to an iPod sitting across from her. 

They choose a booth that’s close to the bathroom and sit down.

“Oh I hope they have chocolate chip pancakes,” the Doctor says, slipping his glasses on and enthusiastically eyeing the menu, “I love those.”

“That’s because you’re twelve,” Donna says, smiling indulgently at him.

“Never let go of your inner-child Donna, that’s my motto.”

“Oh really,” Donna says, wryly, “I always thought it was something like: run away and live to run another day.”

“That too,” he says, with a quicksilver grin. He catches sight of the porter at the other end of the car. “Order me the pancakes will you,” he says rising suddenly, “I have to go check on something.”

“Check on what?”

“Just, something,” he says evasively. “I’ll be back.”

“You’re being awfully secretive,” Donna says, squinting suspiciously at him.

“Am I?”

“You _know_ you are,” she says. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” he squeals.

“No, but you are though,” Donna says thoughtfully. “Out of the blue you’re all, I know what let’s do, let’s go for a ride on the _Orient Express_.” 

Of course it’s not the _actual_ _Orient Express_ , this being the early 62nd century on a tourist planet specifically terraformed to resemble an Old era Earth. Retro worlds they’re called, but that’s beside the point.

“So here we are,” she continues, “and it’s usually just flash the psychic paper at whoever happens to be standing about looking official at the last minute, but no, _this_ time you had tickets, actual tickets that you had to book in advance, so I repeat, what are you up to?”

“So, I booked tickets,” he says mildly.

“And the honeymoon suite,” Donna reminds him.

“Because it was the biggest compartment,” he says, “which on a train is fairly claustrophobic I’ll grant you, but still.”

“Right, so you’re not up to anything then?”

“Who me? I’m twelve remember? Picture of childish innocence, me.”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen the father of my child,” she says dryly.

“Oi!”

“Oh I give up,” she says. “Go on then. Go check on whatever mysterious thing you need to check on. Do you want bananas on your pancakes?”

“Ooh bananas _and_ chocolate chips,” he says with a grin. “You’re always thinking aren’t you? That’s why I lo..”

“How’s that?” Donna asks, when he suddenly breaks off.

“Think you’re brilliant,” he finishes, his smile diminishing somewhat. “I’ll be back,” he says, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before he hops down the aisle towards the porter.

Donna frowns slightly, well aware of the word that he’d been tripping over. They’ve both been going out of their way _not_ to say it for months now. She’s not even sure why, other than the fear that acknowledging how they feel will somehow ruin what they have.

It feels as if the baby is dragging his foot, or possibly his hand across the width of her belly like an eraser over a chalkboard. Donna startles slightly at the unexpected sensation. A waiter appears at the table to take her order. She gets the chocolate chip pancakes with sliced bananas for the Doctor and a bowl of porridge and a fruit plate for herself. She also orders orange juice and tea and a glass of milk. The waiter departs for the kitchen. Donna glances up the aisle to find that both the Doctor and the porter have left the compartment.

“You’re nearly there aren’t you my Dear,” a voice says and Donna looks up to find the elderly woman with the little pillbox hat smiling down at her.

“I’m sorry?” she says.

The woman gestures towards Donna’s belly, where her hand has been unconsciously resting while she’d been thinking.

“Oh,” she says, returning the smile, “yes, nearly. Just a few weeks left.”

“Ah,” the woman says with a nod, “so it’s one last holiday before the big day is it?”

“I suppose, you could say that,” Donna says, although truthfully she’s not sure _why_ the Doctor had been so insistent about making the trip. She’d thought it a bad idea frankly, being so close to her due date, but he’d insisted there was plenty of time for a short holiday before she gave birth. 

The woman is nodding in that knowing way that women who have experienced much in their lives do. “I say my Dear would you mind terribly if I joined you for a few minutes?” she asks, “I’m traveling with my grandson you see and he isn’t the most stimulating of companions.”

Donna glances at the sullen teen sitting in a booth a few feet down the aisle. He’s engrossed in some sort of video game. Donna smiles slightly; it amuses her to find that kids are pretty much the same the universe over.

“Please do,” Donna says graciously.

The woman slides into the seat that the Doctor has just vacated. “Muriel Flemming,” she says, extending her hand across the table.

“Donna Noble,” Donna says, shaking the older woman’s hand.

“So, are you enjoying the trip so far?”

“I am yes,” Donna admits “There’s something very soothing in the motion of the train and the scenery is beautiful.”

“Yes, the scenery _is_ beautiful,” Muriel says, “but it’s the stops that make the trip. We’ll be arriving in New Strasbourg soon and you’ll see. They’re holding the annual winter festival you know. The entire city done up in rose coloured lights. It’s lovely.”

“I’m sure it is,” Donna says.

“Do you know, my husband and I have made this trip every year since we first took it on our honeymoon,” Muriel says brightly.

Donna smiles, “How long have you been married?” She asks.

A shadow crosses Muriel’s face. “sixty years,” she says wanly. “He passed away a few months ago actually.”

“I’m so sorry,” Donna says.

“Yes, well they say till death do you part, but they fail to mention how hard it is when you’re the one that’s left behind, don’t they.”

For some reason this simple statement rattles Donna far more than she cares to admit. Perhaps it’s because _she_ won’t be the one left behind. 

“I must confess, that’s why I introduced myself,” Muriel is saying and Donna forces herself to respond with a smile. “Seeing a young newlywed couple on board, with a baby on the way, well I suppose it made me a bit nostalgic. Circle of life and all that.”

“Oh, we’re not married,” Donna says automatically. She’s so used to saying it without even thinking.

“Oh?” Muriel says, obviously surprised. “I was certain you were. Haven’t you the honeymoon suite?”

“Yes, but we’re.. It’s not.. It’s complicated,” Donna stumbles over the words.

“Is it?” Muriel asks, skeptically. “It seems rather simple to me Dear.”

“Pardon?”

“I just mean that you’re quite obviously devoted to each other that’s all.” Muriel says. “A blind person could see it, and I should know. I’m quite shortsighted you know.”

Donna chuckles slightly at that. 

“Mrs. Flemming may I ask you something?” she asks.

“Muriel. Dear, and yes of course.”

“Muriel,” Donna says, smiling wanly. “Would you risk falling in love with someone if it meant you might lose them as a friend?”

“Oh I see,” Muriel says, answering Donna’s smile with a knowing smile of her own. She lays her hand over Donna’s on the table. “It’s been my experience Dear, that friendship and love are not mutually exclusive,” she says, “and that the most enduring romances always have both.”

The baby kicks. Hard, and Donna gasps at the sudden glancing blow to her ribs. She smiles a bit ruefully at the elderly woman as she rubs her tender belly.

“Strong,” Muriel says, with a soft chuckle.

“Persistent,” Donna says. “He’s got his father’s long legs.”

“Have you chosen a name yet?”

“We’re leaning towards Alexander,” Donna says.

The food arrives then and Muriel hastily excuses herself, as if the sight of it somehow repels her.

“I’ll leave you to your meal then,” she says. “It was lovely chatting with you my Dear.”

Donna watches her flee down the aisle. Puzzled, she takes a spoonful of porridge from the bowl and cautiously sniffs it, her stomach growling when the hot sweet aroma hits her nose.

The Doctor slides into the seat across from her. “Ah brilliant,” he says eyeing his brimming plate, “perfect timing as ever,” he grabs the syrup pitcher, “but then I _am_ a Time Lord after all,” he says, grinning hugely at her. “Get it?” he says. “Timing, Time Lord?”

Donna rolls her eyes and his face falls, “No?” He shrugs and licks off the syrup that he’s accidentally dribbled onto his fingers.

“Best porridge ever by the way,” she says, her mouth full of the creamy thick cereal.

The Doctor watches her shovelling spoonful after spoonful into her mouth for a moment. “Keep eating that fast and you’ll be tasting it again on its way back up,” he warns.

She wrinkles her nose at him. He’s right, though she won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. These days her gag reflex is so sensitive, it’s hard to tell what might set her off. An unappealing scent. A texture. She’s actually thrown up from brushing her teeth too vigorously. Best not to tempt fate she thinks, putting down the spoon and nibbling on a piece of melon from her fruit plate instead. She watches the Doctor in silence for a moment, slowly nibbling bits of fruit while he tucks in to his meal. 

“Why Alexander?” she asks after she grows tired of watching him mainline bananas.

“Hmm?” he asks, his mouth full.

“For the baby,” she says, “why _that_ name in particular?”

He swallows. “I thought you liked Alexander,” he says.

“I do.”

He blinks. “I’m sorry,” he says, “ _what_ are we arguing about again?”

“We’re not arguing,” she says, patiently. Her belly ripples and she lays her hand on it, rubbing a slightly harder spot low on her belly right beneath her belly button. The baby’s back maybe, or his head. “I was just curious,” she says.

“Does there have to be a reason,” he asks. “Can’t I just like the name?”

Donna frowns slightly in response. “Some men would name their son after themselves,” she says.

“Ah,” he says, eyeing her thoughtfully for a moment, “that’s a human tradition.”

“The baby’s half-human,” she says.

The Doctor sighs, tapping the edge of his plate with his fork. “Just ask the question Donna,” he says, resigned.

“Why don’t I know your name?” 

“Yeah, that would be the one,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Well?”

“You know the one that matters,” he says.

“I know the one you gave yourself,” Donna says. She swirls a bit of honey into her porridge and resumes eating at a more subdued pace. “But, your mum obviously didn’t name you _The Doctor_ , did she? I’m talking about your given name. I’m assuming you have one.”

“I do,” he says simply.

“You’d think you’d want to share it with the mother of your child,” Donna shrugs. “Unless..”

“Unless?”

“Unless it’s something embarrassing,” she says wryly. “It _is_ isn’t it, it’s Murray isn’t it, or Dwayne.”

The Doctor chuckles. “None of the above,” he says.

“Or, Keith,” Donna goes on, laughing herself now, “What about Keith?”

“Nope.”

Both still laughing, Donna watches from the corner of her eye as he pours their tea. 

“Next I suppose you’ll tell me it’s something unpronounceable,” she says, “like Mr Spock’s first name.”

The Doctor’s brow wrinkles. “Isn’t _Spock,_ Spock’s first name,” he asks.

“No, I don’t think so,” Donna says.

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, “but no, it’s just a name like any other.”

Donna sighs, nibbling porridge. “So, why all the secrecy then?” She asks.

The Doctor rests his chin on the palm of his hand as he thoughtfully sips from his teacup. “Names are powerful things,” he says eventually. “You of all people should know that Donna Noble.”

Donna shakes her head, not quite following. “How do you mean?” She asks.

“The Time Lords were an ancient and powerful race Donna,” he says softly, “possibly the _most_ powerful race in the entire galaxy. Back then, names were a kind of magic. If you could name a thing, you could steal some of its power for yourself. If a Time Lord’s true name were to fall into the wrong hands, the consequences for the rest of the universe might have been catastrophic.”

“But, the Time Lords are gone,” Donna says gently, her fingers stretching to clasp his hand across the table, “it’s just you now,” she says, clasping his fingers a bit more tightly. “I’m not telling you to give your name to a _Dalek._ I’m asking you to share it with me. Just me. You and me. Us.”

“I know,” he says, one side of his mouth quirking into an almost smile, “and I promise, when the time is right, you will know my name.”

“It always comes down to time with you lot doesn’t it,” Donna says, wryly. “Ancient and powerful. More like pompous and stuffy. I suppose there’s some sort of official naming ceremony with silly hats and itchy robes and chanting priests that I have to suffer through first?”

He smiles. “Not exactly,” he says, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, “no priests, well maybe one, but no chanting, I don’t think, unless things have changed since I last looked. There _is_ a ceremony though.”

“Ha! I knew it,” Donna says. “So what, we have to travel to some distant world. Stand in the shadow of an ancient monolith at sunrise. Learn a dead language. Drink a potion from some sort of chalice.”

The Doctor laughs and Donna grins cheekily. “Nothing that complicated,” he says. “It’s just a simple ceremony. You can hold it anywhere really.”

“Here?”

“Em, no, not here,” he says, somewhat hesitantly, “not the actual ceremony, no, but we _could_ take the first step.”

Donna’s brow puckers in confusion. “What’s that mean? Take the first step,” she asks.

He takes a deep breath, looking suddenly nervous. “It starts with a question,” he says.

Donna is momentarily distracted by Muriel Flemming waving at her from the booth up the aisle where she’s sitting with her grandson. The elderly woman smiles and winks at her, gesturing towards the Doctor with a knowing look on her face. Donna politely nods and smiles, though she has no idea what Muriel is trying to tell her. 

She’s only half listening to the Doctor still stumbling through his question across from her. She’s about to give him her full attention when something white and wriggling catches her eye. 

In the middle of Muriel’s table is a large silver tray covered in live, squirming rats. Donna blinks, thinking she must be seeing things, but before she can tear her eyes away, Muriel reaches for the tray. Her hand momentarily disappears inside some sort of force field, confining the rats to the tray Donna realises, and lifts one out. A few moments later, her grandson does the same. Donna’s eyes grow wide as they each stick what looks like a bendy straw into the flesh of the still wriggling and squeaking rats and blithely begin to suck the blood out of them.

“Oh my God,” Donna gags, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Whu,” the Doctor murmurs as she heaves herself up from the table and waddles urgently towards the bathroom, the curdling porridge in her stomach on its way back up.

She flings the door aside and falls to her knees in front of the stainless steel toilet, the door slowly sliding shut behind her. The baby writhing in her belly only increases her nausea as she vomits partially digested porridge and fruit into the bowl. She continues to vomit until her stomach is empty, but even then the image of writhing rats and bendy straws burned indelibly on to her retinas makes her want to be sick again every time she closes her eyes.

“Oh God,” she mutters, retching again just thinking about it. 

Her stomach finally settles into some semblance of calm and she slowly rises and takes a seat on the toilet, her hand resting on her belly where the baby is fluttering uneasily beneath her skin. 

There’s a soft knock at the door, followed by the Doctor’s voice. “Donna? You all right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before sliding the door open and ducking his head into the room.

“You might have told me there were vampires on board,” Donna says, miserably.

“Plasmavores,” he corrects, his tone gentle.

“What’s the difference?”

“I’d imagine plenty,” the Doctor says, joining her in the tiny bathroom, “to a Plasmavore.” 

He grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and wets them under the faucet, wiping the sweat from Donna’s face, then draping them over the back of her neck. She closes her eyes, soothed by the cool dampness against her skin. 

“No coffins for one thing,” he says, tucking an errant ringlet behind her ear, “or aversion to sunlight. They’re just people like you and me, albeit ones with very specific dietary requirements.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Donna says. Her stomach gurgles and she lets out a loud hiccuping burp, her hand covering her mouth in embarrassment. “Excuse me,” she says through her fingers.

To his credit, the Doctor doesn’t laugh. He hands her a bottle of water from inside his jacket pocket and squats in front of her as she takes a few tentative sips, his hands lightly caressing the tops of her thighs.

“This is cold,” she says, somewhat incredulously, “what, have you got a fridge in there?”

The Doctor smiles enigmatically and Donna can’t quite hide the troubled crease marring her brow. It isn’t as if she isn’t fully aware that he’s not human, but the flashes of otherworldliness that used to dazzle her only serve to highlight her fears now. Fears about the future and a relationship that can never possibly work and a baby that by all rights shouldn’t even exist.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, misreading her frown, “they’re fairly repulsed by what we eat as well.”

“It doesn’t,” she says, closing her eyes. “Ugh, I can’t unsee it.”

“I could remove the image from your mind,” he offers.

“Yeah, don’t even start,” she warns him. She’ll never go down that road with him again. Her memories are her own and she won’t have them tampered with, no matter how unpleasant they may be.

“Still I wouldn’t hold it against Muriel and Nelson if I were you,” the Doctor says with a wan smile.

“Nelson?”

“Muriel’s grandson,” he says. “After you ran in here they stopped by the table to apologise. Well, Muriel stopped by anyway, I got the feeling that Nelson was there against his will. Anyway they’ll be taking their meals in their room from now on.”

“Oh,” Donna says, feeling suddenly guilty. 

She hadn’t meant to drive them into hiding. Muriel had been nothing but kind to her and generous with her advice and Donna had thanked her by confining her to the shadows like a, well, like a vampire.

“No,” she tells him. “Please apologise to them for me. Tell them I didn’t mean to cause a scene and that there’s no need to lock themselves away on my account.”

The Doctor’s smile suddenly widens. “I already have,” he says, caressing her cheek, “and you didn’t cause a scene.” 

Donna returns the smile, though a bit less enthusiastically. The baby kicks in the same spot he’s been kicking all morning and Donna winces at the sudden twinge of pain beneath her ribs, her smile turning rueful as she rubs her tender belly. 

The Doctor grimaces in sympathy, adding his cool fingers to hers. “I think he’s feeling a bit unsettled as well,” he says, softly. “You should probably lie down for a while before we arrive in New Strasbourg.”

“Are we going in?”

“Of course,” he says cheerfully, “you’ll love it. They’re holding the an-”

“I know, don’t tell me. Annual winter festival right?”

His smile falters somewhat. “How did you..?”

“Muriel told me,” Donna says, simply.

He looks crestfallen for a moment, then shrugs. “Well, you’ll love it anyway,” he says mildly. He suddenly stands. “Feeling well enough to make it back to the room?” He asks.

“I suppose so,” Donna says. She slowly stands, leaning heavily against the Doctor’s proffered arm as he opens the door back into the dining car.

“Hang on,” she says, when they’re halfway down the corridor to their compartment, “you mentioned something about a question before?”

His smile turns a bit wan as his eyes scan her face. “It’ll keep until after you’re feeling better,” he says simply, sliding the door open for her without another word.

~~~~~

When Donna wakes, the train has stopped moving and the Doctor is nowhere to be found. She’s not worried. He has a way of turning up just as she’s opening her eyes. She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and staring at the little digital clock on the nightstand beside it. She’s managed to sleep a good two hours. A feat these days considering she hasn’t been able to get comfortable in months.

Her hand absently covers her belly where the baby is sleeping peacefully. She doesn’t wake him. She yawns and stretches, wincing slightly at the sudden twinge in her lower back. It aches fairly constantly lately, especially when she’s been on her feet too long. She has to pee. When she emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, the Doctor is waiting for her holding a serving tray.

“Hullo,” he says with a grin, “did you sleep well?”

“Better than expected,” she says, smiling back at him.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he says, placing the tray down on the bed.

Donna looks at it and sighs, “Yes, I suppose I am,” she says, somewhat incredulously. 

She’s either starving, or nauseated these days. There doesn’t seem to be any in between. She sits down on the edge of the bed, one leg curled underneath her, not bothering to move the tray as she doesn’t have a lap left to perch it on. The Doctor comes round the other side of the bed and flops down beside her as she lifts a steaming bowl from the tray.

“Tomato bisque,” he says, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leans back against the pillows, “I know how much you like it.”

“Mmm, yummy,” she says. It’s delicious, smooth and creamy with luscious bits of fresh tomato and basil mixed in. “So have we a plan for today?” she asks, between spoonfuls.

“Mmm I thought we’d just play it by ear,” he says. “So which do you fancy? Skiing? Ice skating? A brisk hike up an alpine trail?”

Donna swallows basil infused broth. “Sounds a bit..vigorous,” she says.

“The fresh air will do you good,” the Doctor says blithely, “besides weren’t you the one complaining about being a house this morning?” he asks, grinning cheekily at her.

Donna’s eyes narrow slightly. “You’re being awfully cavalier considering you’re laying next to someone holding a hot bowl of soup in her hands,” she says, a note of warning in her voice.

The Doctor’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Actually, I was thinking a leisurely stroll along the river, followed by a sleigh ride through the forest and then dinner at this little cafe I happen to know.”

“That’s more like it,” Donna says, whacking him in the face with a pillow as if it were a giant powder puff.

The Doctor pulls the pillow from his face and hugs it to his chest, watching Donna finish the last of her soup and return the empty bowl to the tray. 

“We should arrive at the cafe just as the sky dancers start to come out,” he says.

“Sky dancers?”

“Indigenous insect species,” he says, “they look like a sort of giant butterfly. The locals call them sky dancers because of the intricate patterns they weave in the air. It’s brilliant,” he says with a sudden grin, “like living fireworks.”

“I thought you said this planet was just like Earth,” Donna says.

“No, I said it was made to _resemble_ Earth,” he says, “the latest terraforming techniques recreate the landscape while keeping the native ecosystems and indigenous species in tact. Don’t you love that,” he says with a grin, “leave it to you humans.”

“So, it’s the best of both worlds,” Donna says, with a suggestive smile, her hand resting on her fully blossomed belly, “sounds sort of familiar.”

The Doctor rolls onto his hands and knees, grinning like a cat. He practically throws the tray onto the nightstand and Donna laughs lightly, laying back against the pillows as he leans over her, his mouth inches from hers. 

“Oh yes,” he whispers, lifting her blouse, “you’d know something about that would you?” His cool hand slowly travels along the high curve of her bare belly and Donna shivers slightly at the thrill of his touch. 

“Let’s hope he takes after my side of the family,” she teases him.

The Doctor’s ancient eyes twinkle with amusement. “His mum’s lovely blue eyes and his dad’s rakish grin,” he says, waggling his eyebrows, “the best of both worlds.”

“Just so long as he doesn’t get your crooked nose,” Donna says.

“My nose is not crooked,” he says indignantly and Donna nearly laughs.

“It is you know,” she says fondly, tracing the length of his nose with her finger, “it slopes just a bit to the right.”

“Well, what about yours,” he says.

“What _about_ mine,” Donna asks, her tone dangerous.

“It’s..” he says, breaking off. “Yeah, I got nothing,” he admits. Donna laughs again and the Doctor grins.

“I love your nose,” he says, planting a light kiss on the turned up tip. “and your mouth,” he says, brushing her lips with his. “Ooh and these,” he says, sitting up a bit so he can explore the ample cleavage straining against the plunging neckline of her blouse, “ _these_ are brilliant!”

Donna playfully swats his hand away. “They’re not for you,” she says, “they’re for the baby.”

“He won’t appreciate them the way I do,” the Doctor says wryly and Donna laughs musically beneath him.

“They’ve gotten very..”

“Swollen?”

“I was going to say dynamic,” he says.

“Have they?”

“Oh yes, it’s as if they’re standing at attention,” he says, throwing her breasts a jaunty salute.

“Stop that,” Donna says, swatting him in the arm.

The Doctor grins and brushes her lips with his, his hand slipping inside the elastic waistband of her jeans, His nimble fingers slide into her knickers and then into her, exploring her curves, making her body rise to meet his as their lips part and she gasps with pleasure.

“Wait,” she says breathlessly, pushing him away, “this is what got us into trouble in the first place remember?”

“Oh well,” he says, nearly as breathless as she is. “What’s the worst that can happen?” His lips find hers again, his growing excitement evident in the sudden hardness Donna can feel bulging against her thigh. “If you’re worried about getting pregnant, I’m afraid that train’s already left the station.”

“You’re not funny,” she gasps.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, nuzzling her neck. He opens his mouth, exploring the contours of her neck and shoulder with his talented tongue.

“No but,” she gasps breathlessly, he does something with his fingers that makes her eyes roll back into her head and robs her of all coherent thought for a moment.

“But what?” he gasps, their chests heaving in breathless union.

New Strasbourg remember,” she says, “winter festival, sleigh ride, sky dancers. Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Vaguely,” he gasps, with a wry smile. He falls onto his back beside her, both of them remaining silent until their breathing calms. 

He squirms a bit, adjusting his trousers and Donna chuckles, turning on to her side with some effort to regard him. “Unless you intended for me to come all this way, just to see the inside of a train compartment that is,” she says, lightly tracing his cheek with her finger.

His mouth quirks into a little half-smile at that. “No, you’re right,” he says, “one winter festival coming up.” He abruptly sits up, drawing his bony knees to his chest. “You may want to change your blouse before we go though,” he says softly, “you’re sort of leaking.”

“You what?” she cries, pulling her blouse back down. Sure enough there are two watery stains slowly spreading below her neckline from her breasts. “What the hell,” she cries, awkwardly scrambling off the bed, “when did _this_ start?”

“It’s just a little colostrum,” the Doctor says mildly, “your breast milk is starting to come in that’s all.”

“Yeah, I know what it is,” Donna snaps at him, as she rifles through her bag of incidentals. “I’ve read the books, but that doesn’t make it any less mortifying does it!”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about Donna,” the Doctor says, in that maddeningly reasonable tone that he has, “it’s perfectly natural.”

“Don’t patronise me Spaceman,” Donna says, absently. She finds what she’s looking for; the box of nursing pads she’d packed just in case. “Okay,” she whispers to herself, calmer now that she’s got them in her hand. 

The baby wakes, kicking her like a footballer an inch or so above the bellybutton. Donna winces and sighs. She’s sweating. She hasn’t seen her swollen ankles in months. Her stretch marks are leaving stretch marks and now to top it all off she’s springing leaks like a faulty garden hose.

“Mum was right you know,” she says, her eyes falling on the Doctor, “you’ve completely ruined me.”

“I know,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

“She never _did_ forgive dad you know,” she says, blotting the glistening sweat from her brow with a tissue. “Why do you think I haven’t any siblings?” She quickly scans the instructions on the box in her hands.

“Yes, well,” the Doctor says, rising from the bed and taking the box from her, “You’re not your mum Donna, and let me just say, and I can’t stress this enough by the way, thank God.”

“She’s not that bad,” Donna says, pulling another bra from the small bureau where she’s put their things.

“Not that bad?” he cries, incredulous, “When we told her you were pregnant she threatened to chop off my head and hang it on the wall above the fireplace!”

“Oh she didn’t mean that,” Donna says, rolling her eyes. “We don’t even have a fireplace.”

She pulls her blouse off over her head while the Doctor peels the adhesive backing off of the pads and inserts them into the cups of her bra for her. She takes it from him and slips it on, turning around and lifting her hair so that he can fasten it over her back. 

“I’m actually much better at _unfastening_ these,” he says wryly, slipping his glasses on, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrates on joining the little hooks and eyelets sewn into the edges of the material.

“Have you got a special setting on the sonic for that,” Donna asks, grinning cheekily as she adjusts the fresh bra over her breasts.

“I could always perform a few experiments,” he says, coming up behind her and draping his shaggy head over her shoulder. Donna smirks, her eyes rolling skyward as she covers his face with her hand and shoves him away.

“I’ve got absolutely nothing to wear,” she says, anxiously digging through the bureau drawers while the Doctor disappears into the bathroom for a moment.

“Wear the blue one with the long bell sleeves and the little purple flowers,” he calls over the sound of running water, “you look lovely in that.”

“I look lovely in nothing,” she sighs. “Did I even pack that?”

“Don’t you remember asking me if you should,” he says, towelling off his hands in the open doorway, “and I said yes pack it, you look lovely in that.”

“Frankly no,” she says, finally coming across the blouse in question, “but, that’s just because your son is eating what’s left of my brain,” she says.

“No brain eaters on _my_ side of the family,” he says, mildly, “your mother on the other hand.”

“So she’s got a peculiar sense of humour,” Donna says, tugging the blouse on over her ill fitting camisole. 

“So, do serial killers,” the Doctor says, flatly. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder where _you_ came from.”

“From my dad mostly,” Donna says, adjusting the blouse over her belly. It’s snug, but she’s decided to try to make her peace with form fitting clothes. At any rate, it covers the waistband of her jeans. She stands in front of him, arms outstretched so that he can get a better look at what she’s wearing. “Well?” 

“You look--”

“What, bloated?” she asks, wrinkling her nose at him, “Puffy?”

“Beautiful,” he says, taking her by the hand and pulling her close, “also, bloated and puffy mean practically the same thing,” he says wryly.

Donna smiles, turning slightly so she can snuggle against his chest. “I wish my dad were here,” she says.

“I know,” the Doctor says, resting his chin on the top of her head. 

“He would have liked you, you know,” she says, looking up at him.

The Doctor grimaces slightly. “Right. After I stole away and impregnated his only daughter? Somehow I doubt it. I think it’s far more likely that he’d be hanging the frame around my head while your mother was nailing it to the wall.”

Donna’s mouth quirks slightly at the image. “You’re wrong,” she says, “he would have been ecstatic at the prospect of becoming a grandfather. Even if it meant welcoming a skinny alien know-it-all into the family.”

“You forgot pompous,” the Doctor says, mildly.

“ _Pompous_ alien know-it-all,” Donna agrees, with a quick nod.

The Doctor smiles and makes a loose bow in the ties hanging at the back of Donna’s empire waisted blouse. “Ready to go then?” He asks. 

She nods. “Ready whenever you are,” she says, except that no, not really, because she has to pee again.

He’s waiting with her wool cardigan coat when she emerges, his own tan greatcoat already hanging loosely from his lanky frame. He holds her coat out for her and she slips her arms into the sleeves, shrugging it on. He slips the large plastic buttons into the buttonholes down the loosely pleated front, then gives her belly a fond pat.

“Right then, off we go,” he says cheerfully, as he takes her hand in his and leads the way out of the compartment.

~~~

_la fraise_ the cafe is called. They arrive at dusk, just as the rose coloured lanterns start coming to life throughout the city. Fresh from a leisurely sleigh ride across the tree lined countryside where the air is crisp and smells of pine and freshly fallen snow.

The sky dancers dip and reel through the air like living snowflakes riding on the wind. At times the air is thick with them, the complex patterns they form around them indeed like living fireworks. The Doctor grins when one alights in Donna’s hair, a ribbon of living lace in a waterfall of red silk. 

Donna smiles and takes it on her finger, its wings like fairy lace glittering in the late day sun. It launches itself back into the air, spiralling away like a feather on the wind and the Doctor takes her hand in his, lightly brushing the back of it with his lips. Donna leans into him, laying her head against his shoulder.

“Are you warm enough?” he murmurs into her hair, his head laying against hers. She smiles and nods and mumbles some sort of affirmative, too relaxed in the near perfection of the moment to spoil it with words. 

The warmth she’s feeling has nothing to do with the weather, which is crisp but comfortable in the golden crescent of the late day sun. For the moment, she’s able to set aside the fears and the doubts that have plagued her for the last nine months. She sighs and briefly closes her eyes, suffused with a sense of contentment from being here with the Doctor and from the baby dozing peacefully in her belly. 

They stroll across the cobblestones towards the wrought iron gate surrounding the courtyard of the cafe, towards a dark haired man wearing a tuxedo standing beneath the arched entryway. Pale rose coloured lights draped across the courtyard hang above his head, illuminating him from behind with a soft pink halo. He unconsciously straightens as Donna and the Doctor approach, regarding them both with a courteous if somewhat plastic smile.

“Good evening sir,” he says, nodding at the Doctor. “Madame.”

“Hullo,” the Doctor says amicably, grinning back, “reservation for two. The name’s Smith.”

Donna startles slightly, as the tuxedoed maitre d’ briefly checks his reservation book. “Ah yes,” he says, “Doctor Smith and Miss Noble. We’re holding your table. Right this way sir,” he says, gesturing for them to follow him into the courtyard.

“You made reservations?” Donna asks incredulously, as the Doctor steps aside to allow her to step through the archway ahead of him. Her skin tingles as she crosses the threshold, as if she’s stepped through an invisible curtain. The air warms noticeably on the other side of it.

“Climate control field,” the Doctor says in answer to her silent question, “keeps the sky dancers out and the warmth in.”

He takes her hand as the maitre d’ leads them to an exquisitely arranged table of fern coloured glass, sitting inside a gazebo resplendent with snow dusted white winter roses and frosted pink lights. 

Donna stops short when she sees it. “Is _this_ the mysterious thing you were checking on this morning?” she asks, her face shining in the pale glow of the fragrant gazebo.

The Doctor flashes her an enigmatic smile in response. “Like it?” He asks.

“It’s beautiful,” she says. “If I wasn’t already a pumpkin, I’d feel just like Cinderella.”

The Doctor’s grin turns wry as he playfully brushes the tip of her nose with his finger. 

“May I take your coats?” The maitre d’ asks, holding his arm out expectantly. 

Donna slips hers off and hands it to him. 

“Belle mere,” the maitre d’ murmurs, smiling at her and robustly kissing the tips of his fingers as he drapes her coat over his arm with a flourish.

“I’ll hold on to mine, thanks,” the Doctor says, waving him off as he pulls out a chair for Donna.

“Very good sir,” the maitre d’ says smartly. “Will there be anything else?”

“We’re fine thanks,” the Doctor says.

“Thank you,” Donna says, smiling at the man as he lingers expectantly. She sits down and the Doctor pushes her chair a comfortable distance towards the table, then pulls out his own.

The maitre d’ coughs subtly into his palm and Donna smiles slightly. 

“Doctor,” she says, raising her eyebrows expectantly as he blithely drapes his coat over the back of his chair.

He looks up, startled to find the maitre d’ still there, until sudden understanding lights his face. “Oh right,” he says, hastily patting his pockets. 

He reaches into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out what looks like a couple of gold coins, slipping them into the dapper man’s hand with a grin.

“There you are my good man,” he says with a wink, “don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Uh, thank you sir,” the maitre d’ says a bit hesitantly, one eyebrow cocked as he eyes the coins covering his palm. He turns smartly on his heel and walks away, still staring at his palm as he leaves.

“I think you confused him,” Donna says softly as she watches the tuxedoed man’s retreating form. “Were those gold doubloons you gave him?”

“Crowns actually,” the Doctor says absently. 

“Don’t tell me,” Donna says wryly, “you were Captain Kidd in another life.”

“Well, I _am_ nine hundred and three after all,” he says mildly, “I may have collected a few mementos over the years.”

“Right,” Donna says, “like a treasure chest or two.”

The Doctor shrugs wryly. “Even if he was slightly baffled by the coins themselves,” he says, “gold is gold and still highly valued throughout the known galaxies, well the ones populated by humans anyway.”

“What was that he said to me before?” Donna asks. “Belle..?”

“What, belle mere?”

“Yeah.”

The Doctor smiles. “It means beautiful mother,” he says, “and quite right too.”

Donna finds herself blushing as she returns his smile. “You’re not you know,” she says suddenly, her smile turning into a knowing grin.

“Sorry?”

“Nine hundred and three,” she says, “we’ve been together for two years, not counting the one we spent apart, and you’ve been nine hundred and three the entire time.”

“Well, I’m nine hundred…ish,” he says, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

Donna’s eyes sparkle with growing amusement. “Admit it,” she says, “you’re afraid to tell me your _real_ age, because you think I’ll find it too shocking.”

“Well, it isn’t as if I think you’ll go into premature labor over it, or anything,” he says a bit indignantly.

“No,” Donna says, thoughtfully, “but you’re worried that if I find out you’re actually in the quadruple digits I’ll think you’re some sort of dirty old man.”

“I don’t understand this human obsession with age,” he says, frowning slightly.

“I know you don’t,” Donna says, her smile warming, “It’s one of the most endearing things about you actually, the fact that you can never seem to remember my age, no matter how many times I tell you.”

“If you’re about to say something about senility setting in..”

“No,” Donna says, chuckling, “but you have to admit, we _do_ give a whole new meaning to the words May/December romance, although in our case it’s more like a May/Jurassic period romance.”

“Oi!” he cries, his eyes twinkling mischievously “are you implying that I’m some sort of dinosaur with that remark?”

“No,” Donna says softly, her smile turning troubled as she looks down and covers his hand in her own. “It’s just…” she vaguely shakes her head as her voice fades to sudden silence.

“Don’t you think it’s about time we talked about it?” He asks softly, and Donna looks up to find his ancient brown eyes watching her intently.

“Talked about what?” She asks, trying to keep her tone light and failing.

“Whatever it is that’s got you so scared,” he says very gently, lacing his fingers through hers.

Donna swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. Her back aches. She stretches, leaning back in her chair, her fingers splayed out over her swollen belly.

The Doctor’s eyes turn thoughtful as he watches her. He frowns suddenly, his wrought iron chair scraping the ground as he abruptly stands and kneels beside her, his cool hand resting on her belly.

“Please talk to me Donna,” he says, “what are you so afraid of? Is it the baby?” but she doesn’t know how to explain without hurting him. 

She feels as if she’s become a bystander in her own life and a passenger in her own body. They’d just started taking the first tentative steps towards something beyond friendship and suddenly she’s ten days late and staring at a blue stick in the bathroom. It shouldn’t have been possible, and yet here she sits nine months later, teetering on the edge of motherhood with a man she hasn’t even fully reconciled her feelings for. Now there’s this brand new life forever connecting them to one another and it scares her, because it all feels inevitable somehow. As if she never had any choice in the matter. 

She covers the Doctor’s hand in both of hers, their slumbering baby just beginning to stir again inside her womb. “What will he be like?” She asks him, a quiet plea for reassurance in her voice.

The Doctor gives her a little half-smile and slowly runs his hand along her belly. “He’ll be like us,” he says, his voice soft and wistful, “like you and like me and like every other little boy in the universe who knows his parents love him.” 

The baby kicks as if in response to his father’s voice and the Doctor’s smile gradually warms. 

“He’ll laugh and he’ll cry,” he says. “and run, and play, and he’ll throw his arms around his mum’s neck when he hugs her.” Donna laughs, tears suddenly filling her eyes. 

“He’ll beg to stay up past his bed time,” the Doctor continues gently, “and make you read every story in his room at least twice, just to stay up a little longer. He won’t eat his vegetables and he’ll learn to ride a bicycle, and fall down and skin his knees,” he grins suddenly, “and he’ll smile a lot.”

Donna closes her eyes, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks, because she can picture it all in her head, just the way he’s describing it.

“True, he may be doing advanced calculus by the time he starts preschool,” the Doctor says mildly, “but that’s not so scary is it?”

Donna opens her eyes and looks at him, smiling tremulously as she tenderly caresses his cheek. “No, not so scary,” she says

The Doctor’s dark eyes are fathomless and filled with experience and she realises suddenly that he doesn’t have to imagine anything he’s telling her, because he’s already lived it. He’s lived it and then lost it all in the blink of an eye.

Donna swallows, suddenly frightened again. She wipes her tears away with the palms of her hands. “It’s not the baby,” she says.

“Well, what then?” The Doctor tentatively asks. “Is it me?” Donna can’t bring herself to answer him. 

Every night she makes up her mind to leave him, to pack her things and run back to Chiswick to raise their baby alone. It’ll just be easier that way, she thinks, but in the cold light of day she always loses her nerve. She rolls over and looks into the Doctor’s ancient eyes and knows that she can’t bring herself to leave, because it would be too much like living half a life without him.

The Doctor swallows seeing it all on her face. He pulls away from her and abruptly stands, but Donna grasps his hand before he can turn away.

“Will he regenerate,” she asks suddenly, “the baby?”

The Doctor eyes her thoughtfully. “He has one heart,” he says after a moment.

“So, that’s a no then.”

He sighs. “What’s on your mind Donna?” He asks.

“You’ll outlive us,” she tells him, “both of us.” She stares at his hand, his long slender fingers wrapped in hers, comforting and familiar. “I used to know you as well as I know myself,” she says softly, “but it’s all gone now, like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. How can we… How can we ever possibly..,” she breaks off, shaking her head. “My life is just so small compared to yours,” she says, “like a shallow little pond beside this incredibly deep well that goes on forever.”

“Don’t say that,” he says softly, “there’s nothing little or shallow about you.”

Someone screams.

The doctor stiffens at the sound, his head swivelling towards the cobblestone street by the front gate of the cafe and the knot of people frantically scampering down it. Donna grabs the back of her chair and awkwardly rises to her feet beside him, craning her neck to see the terrified looks on their faces as they rush by. She hears the word _monster_ ripple through the crowd and something else, another word she can’t quite make out _Visine_ , _smithereen_.

“ _Slitheen_ ,” the Doctor murmurs beside her. “Right, well that would explain it then.”

“Explain what?” Donna asks, confused.

“The really lousy service,” he says, pulling his coat from the back of his chair and shrugging into it.

Donna swallows and looks around, noting for the first time that they’re completely alone in the outside dining area of the cafe. Even the crisp maitre d’ has abandoned his post under the rose lit archway.

“What they _evacuated_!” Donna cries indignantly, “and no one thought to tell us about it!? Why that supercilious little..” She’s appalled, struggling to find the words that will adequately express her outrage. “And you gave him two gold crowns!” she cries, “Right, I’m lodging a complaint with his supervisor.”

She startles at the unmistakable sound of energy weapons discharging and the Doctor suddenly turns and grips her by the shoulders. “Stay here,” he tells her urgently, “stay right here. Do not move from this spot. Understand?”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the sonic, flipping it nimbly in his hand as Donna frowns at him.

“Yeah, I understand,” she says tartly. “Just so we’re clear, you’re not pushing me off on the sidelines once this kid is born, you know.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” he says, leaping from the edge of the gazebo onto the garden path below. “Ooh a racing pram!” he cries suddenly, turning around and jogging backwards towards the entry gate of the cafe.

“You what?” 

“They’re brilliant,” he says, “runners use them. They’re sleeker than regular prams and extremely aerodynamic.”

Donna simply stands there looking at him as if he just fell out of a tree and landed on his head.

The Doctor frowns slightly in response. “Just think about it,” he says, spinning on his heel and running full tilt towards the cobblestone street, his long coat billowing purposefully behind him as he goes.

The streets are mostly empty now, though a few frightened stragglers hurry past the Doctor as he vaults the iron gate and flies past them in the opposite direction, directly towards the sound of weapons fire growing increasingly louder in the distance.

“Just be careful!” Donna calls anxiously after him.

“You know me,’ he calls back, with a lopsided grin.

Donna frowns. “Yeah, I do,” she shouts, “that’s why I’m worried. Just try not to get yourself killed too many times before you get back. I’ve grown accustomed to that crooked nose of yours!”

“It’s not crooked,” he calls back, then he’s gone.

Donna stands there a few moments longer, craning her neck past the bend in the road where she’d lost sight of him.

“Well,” she says with a sigh, her hand resting on her belly, “it looks like it’s just you and me kid.”

The baby kicks and Donna smiles slightly in response. She nearly sits down again, but a sudden twinge in her back changes her mind for her. She winces, leaning back in an arching stretch that makes her blouse ride up past the elastic waistband of her jeans and exposes a pale swath of her swollen belly.

“Very attractive,” she mutters, quickly pulling it down again.

She has to pee. She looks around the darkening courtyard and sees a building nestled in among the trees, lit from within with flickering amber light. The indoor dining room she thinks, making her way towards it. 

It’s started to snow. She can see the tiny flakes racing past the rose coloured street lamps outside the climate control field. It’s eerily quiet, even the din of discharging energy beams has ceased, and Donna swallows, the hairs on the back of her neck rising in sudden apprehension. 

She glances back over her shoulder, certain that someone is watching her as she quickly makes her way over to the dining room. She has a moment of panic, convinced that the opaque French doors will be locked, but to her relief the door handles give way easily beneath her hands and she steps over the threshold, quickly closing the doors behind her as she enters.

She sags against them, weak with relief, cold sweat springing out across her forehead even as she admonishes herself for letting her imagination run away with her. She glances back over her shoulder at the deserted courtyard through the opaque glass doors and sees nothing, no movement, not a single living thing save for the occasional sky dancer reeling against the invisible dome of the climate control field covering it.

As if in tune with her feelings, the baby flutters uneasily inside her and Donna frowns slightly, her hand lightly caressing the curve below her bellybutton as she walks to the deserted bar. There’s a tray with a neat stack of white linen napkins sitting on the edge, as if someone abandoned it there in their haste to leave.

“Hello?” she calls out, taking a napkin from the tray and blotting her clammy face with it. “Is there anyone here?”

There’s a.. Well, it’s not exactly a television screen, more like a projected three dimensional display playing behind the bar. Donna stares at it for a moment, looking around for some sort of remote to turn the volume up when she sees the special news report scrolling across it. She finds a row of recessed buttons set into the smooth countertop of the bar and presses the one with the little speaker icon on it. 

She listens to the very serious looking female anchor relating the news of the escaped convicts from the prison transport ship at New Paris who hijacked a sub-light bus and abandoned it somewhere in the forest outside New Strasbourg. Some sort of crime family with a very long and complicated hyphenated name. 

Donna stares at the image of the three green skinned aliens on the display, their smooth bulbous faces, huge black eyes and wickedly pointed teeth making them look like some sort of mad cross between a praying mantis and the Gerber baby. _Considered armed and extremely dangerous_ the anchor is saying and Donna shudders, thinking of the Doctor somewhere out there alone. 

She really has to pee. She looks around, spying a lit corridor between the bar and the lobster tanks that looks promising. She starts down it, relieved to see the telltale doors with the appropriate symbols at the end. 

She’s washing her hands when she hears the sudden crash from outside. Donna jumps, unable to stop the involuntarily yelp that escapes her throat at the sound. A twinge turns into a spasm in her lower back as heavy footfalls charge up to the bathroom door and it bursts open suddenly, a green-skinned monster standing in the doorway.

It’s huge, like a bulbous gorilla only taller. Its long ape arms ending in lethal looking banana claws that clack ominously as it stands there regarding her with its baleful black eyes, sniffing the air like some sort of mutant bloodhound. 

“Hello skin-suit,” it says, its voice high pitched and ringing with some sort of digital enhancement from the thick metal collar hanging around its neck. 

Then it’s charging towards her, its banana claws coming at her like fistfuls of daggers. Donna screams, backing against the tiled wall between the bathroom stalls and the sink when the thing suddenly stops, its long claws hovering inches from her throat.

“Wait,” it says, its bulbous face swivelling down on its fleshy neck to breathe deep her scent. Donna groans, closing her eyes and nearly gagging, because the thing reeks of halitosis, like one giant rotting tooth. 

“You’re positively swimming in hormones aren’t you,” it says and Donna swallows, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from barfing into the sink.

Nictitating membranes flash across its eyes like an insect as its banana claws slowly trace the length of her body. Donna swallows and shrinks away, instinctively protecting her vulnerable belly as the thing’s lips curl away from its pointed teeth in a sudden snarl.

“Where is he?” It asks, its high pitched voice dripping with malice.

“Wh...where’s who?” Donna gasps, her stomach churning.

“The Time Lord that put that baby in your belly,” it says darkly. “Where’s the Doctor?”

“I don’t…” Donna gasps, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any Doctor.”

It just stares at her, its eyes like black pits. “I can smell the adrenaline on you,” it says, “and your heart rate just increased. You’re lying.” It looms over her, its fetid face inches from hers. “Make me ask again and I will rip that baby out of you and make you watch it die before I kill you,” it hisses menacingly.

“All right all right all right,” Donna half gags, half sobs, trembling over the edge of the sink, gripping the rim with white knuckled hands. “He’s… he’s not here. We broke up months ago. He doesn’t even know about the baby.” 

The lie flows easily from her lips. There isn’t even any conscious thought behind it, only the half-formed notion that whatever this thing wants with the Doctor, it can’t be good. She won’t just lead it to him. 

A meaty paw grasps her neck, slamming her up against the tiled wall and Donna cries out as the twinge in her back again blossoms in painful spasm. She opens her eyes to find a banana claw hovering inches from her face.

“Right,” the creature hisses menacingly, its rancid breath like a physical blow to Donna’s queasy stomach, “back to the original plan then,” it does something with its mouth, which may be some sort of cadaverous grin, “after a little snack of course,” it says, its clawed hand slowly sliding the length of Donna’s distended belly. Donna screws her eyes shut and shudders, repulsed by its touch. “Human foetus,” it purrs, “Mmmm yummy.”

“ _Half_ -human actually,” a familiar voice says from the doorway behind them, “half-Time Lord.”

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baby story Doctor/Donna style.

Donna opens her eyes to find the Doctor casually entering the room, his hands thrust deep inside his trouser pockets as if he’s just returned from a leisurely stroll along the countryside. His expression is deceptively mild as he saunters in, but Donna can see the lines of tension in his face and the thunderclouds gathering behind his dark eyes. 

“Just as an FYI you understand,” he says, his tone light, but holding the hint of a warning. “Wouldn’t want to bite off more than you can chew now, would you.” 

His eyes flicker to Donna’s pale face. She sees the concern in them, but it’s completely hidden behind a mask of false indifference by the time the thing turns its bulbous head to regard him, its fleshy hand still firmly gripped around her throat.

“You’ve changed your face,” it says.

“Yeah, well, we do that,” the Doctor says, shrugging casually, “it’s a Time Lord thing.”

“Still smell the same though,” it says flatly and the Doctor suddenly frowns.

“Well, that was a bit rude,” he says somewhat indignantly, “especially considering the source. I mean honestly, would it _kill_ you to try a breath mint every now and then?”

“You don’t remember me,” the thing says, raising itself to its full imposing height.

“Nope. Sorry,” The Doctor says, completely unimpressed. “Should I?”

“I’m Jocrassa Fel Fotch Pasameer-Day Slitheen,” it says pompously, “Blon Fel Fotch Pasameer-Day Slitheen was my sister.”

“Your _baby_ sister by now, I’d imagine,” the Doctor says mildly.

Jocrassa regards him in silence, its nictitating membranes blinking furiously as its lips curl away from its sharp teeth in a deep scowl. “She was adopted into a new family,” it says.

“Good for her,” the Doctor says proudly, “let’s hope she turns out a bit better this time around, eh?” He frowns suddenly. “Hang on though, I thought the rest of you lot were destroyed in the explosion in ten Downing Street.”

Donna thinks she may remember hearing something about that on the news several years ago. Some sort of explosion caused by faulty wiring in one of the offices that took out the acting PM and several of his most trusted advisors. She probably should have realised there was more to the _real_ story than that, especially given her recent travels with the Doctor.

“I managed to slip on a skin-suit and make my escape at the last possible second,” Jocrassa says flatly.

“See that just rubs me the wrong way,” the Doctor says, shaking his head, “don’t like last minute escapes, unless they’re mine of course,” he says, smiling humourlessly. “Especially don’t like ones made while wearing _skin-suits_ that were just innocent people living their lives, until you came along and killed them.”

“What are a few human casualties,” Jocrassa says, disdainfully.

“I’ve always hated that word,” the Doctor says, just as disdainfully, “casualty. As if there were anything _casual_ about it.”

“Strange,” Jocrassa says, “considering how casually you murdered my entire family.”

The Doctor’s face turns grim. “I did what I had to do to protect the _Earth_ ,” he says softly, “your _family_ was going to destroy it and then sell the ruins to the highest bidder as cheap radioactive fuel.”

“It was a legitimate business transaction,” Jocrassa says indignantly.

“Oh please,” the Doctor says, rolling his eyes, “and _Clom_ is a spa planet.”

“You will pay fo--”

“Yeah, I get it,” the Doctor says, heaving an exasperated sigh, “I ruined your life. Your hatred for me burns with the fury of a thousand suns, or whatever. Jocrassa Fel.., look would you mind if we dispensed with all the Fel Fotch Pasameer-Day nonsense and I just called you Jo? No? Lovely. Look Jo, we can stand here pointing fingers at each other all day, or you could just tell me what it is that you want.”

“Revenge,” Jocrassa says, ominously.

“Revenge, right,” the Doctor says, with an explosive clap of his hands, “ _now_ we’re getting somewhere.” He slowly raises his hands above his head. “You got it,” he says.

“What?” Jocrassa says, nictitating membranes blinking suspiciously.

“I surrender,” the Doctor says.

He sounds completely serious. Donna swallows with some difficulty past the huge paw at her throat and looks at him, but he won’t meet her eyes.

“If this is some sort of trick..,” Jocrassa starts.

“Nope. No tricks,” the Doctor says, “I give up. There’s just one condition.”

“I _knew_ it,” Jocrassa says, flatly.

“Oh come on,” The Doctor cries, “be reasonable. You can’t expect me to agree to have my head ripped off without at least _one_ condition, now can you?” 

Jocrassa seems to consider that for a moment. Finally, it just shrugs. “Fine,” it says, “what’s your condition?”

“My life for hers,” the Doctor says softly, indicating Donna with a slight nod of his head, “give me your word as an entrepreneur that no harm will come to her Jocrassa Fel Fotch Pasameer-Day Slitheen, and my life is yours to do with as you please.”

“No! Don’t!” Donna cries, her voice strangled with unshed tears and the weight of a meaty hand at her throat.

The Doctor’s eyes flicker to her face and just for a second, no not even a second, a moment really, his mask slips and she can see the fear in his eyes, the fear and the utter emptiness. He believes that one of them is about to die and he’s terrified that it’s going to be her. 

And in that single moment of weakness, Jocrassa knows it too.

A muscle works in the Doctor’s jaw as his eyes return to Jocrassa’s fleshy face. “Come on Jo,” he says softly, “we both know it’s _my_ neck you’d rather be throttling right now, don’t we.”

Jocrassa’s thin lips curl away from its pointed teeth in a ghastly grin as its bulbous head turns to regard Donna. “I thought I wanted to kill you Doctor,” it says, slowly raising a single banana clawed finger to hover menacingly in front of the space between her eyes, “but I think I’ll just settle for _hurting_ you instead.”

The air feels oddly charged Donna thinks, as if it’s filled with static electricity. She stares cross-eyed at the creature’s curved claw as the Doctor slowly draws himself to his full height behind its back. The mask is completely gone now, the fear in his eyes has been replaced by darkness, sweeping across the irises of his eyes until they’re just two empty black holes in his face. 

“Touch her,” he says, an odd echoing resonance in his voice, “and there won’t be anywhere in the universe you’ll be able to hide from me.”

Jocrassa shivers slightly in response to the strange energy crackling in the air, the nictitating membranes in its black eyes blinking twice as fast as before. It turns its head to regard the Doctor, pale and grim in his long tan coat, and suddenly smiles.

“You murdered my family Doctor. Think I’ll return the favour and murder yours.” 

Donna screams, closing her eyes as it lunges at her, its clawed hand slashing through the air and plunging towards her face.

~~~

She feels the baby stretch inside her, gasping in surprise when she’s simultaneously poked in the ribs and pelvis, her belly rippling with the unexpected sensation. Then she’s sobbing relieved tears, because if she can still feel the baby moving, they must both be alive. She opens her eyes to find the Doctor standing beside a motionless Jocrassa, its lethal looking claws poised inches from her face.

He looks at her, his eyes fathomless black pools as he takes hold of the frozen _Slitheen’s_ hand and very carefully pushes it aside. Then he steps into the empty space between them and carefully removes Jocrassa’s other hand from around Donna’s throat. 

Donna warily eyes the frozen alien as the Doctor takes her hand and steps around it, leading them through the narrow corridor between the bathroom stalls and the sink.

They embrace as soon as they’re clear of the _Slitheen_ , Donna throwing her arms around the Doctor’s neck and burying her face in his shoulder until the choking sobs burning her throat gradually ease. She’s dizzy. Unsteady on her feet. The baby kicks and she suddenly pulls away from him, grasping his shoulder for support as her other hand gently caresses her belly. It’s only now that she’s beginning to realise how terrified she’d been that she might never feel their son stirring within her again.

The Doctor covers her hand in his. “We have to leave,” he says, “there’s an entire _Judoon_ platoon headed this way and they will definitely shoot first and ask questions later.”

After hearing him speak, she suddenly realises how quiet it is. No, not just quiet. Completely silent. She hears nothing save the sound of her own breathing and the rustle of their clothing as they move in the still air. No ambient sounds at all. It’s as if everything has just stopped.

She glances at the motionless _Slitheen_ , frozen in a rigour of fury at the other end of the room and feels ill suddenly, her head spinning as she stumbles against the Doctor.

“Wh...what’s,” she stammers.

“Leave now,” he says, “explain later.”

Despite the fact that she’s huge and weighs a tonne, he gathers her into his arms as if it’s nothing and hustles them both out of the room. Donna can do nothing but hold on, hanging her head over his shoulder as they flee the cafe through the front door. 

The sun has set, smokey twilight giving way to darkness and rose coloured street lamps illuminating the deserted cobblestone streets in pools of pink light. Donna would think it all incredibly romantic under different circumstances.

“I may throw up,” she gasps, her head swimming.

“I know,” he says, as they hurry down the cobblestone street away from the cafe, “just do me a favour and try to aim away from the coat. I haven’t had it Scotch-Guarded.”

She nearly laughs, but finds herself clinging more tightly to him instead, trembling with the knowledge of how close she came to losing him. She swallows and tries to breathe in the fresh air, but everything is so still, the stagnant air like a beaded curtain pricking her skin as they dart through it. 

They pass through a pool of pink light and she sees a sky dancer hanging motionless in the air, its fairy lace wings glinting like pale glass in the lamp light. Donna shuts her eyes and groans, the impossible image wreaking havoc with her equilibrium.

The doctor comes to a halt beside a wrought iron park bench ornately decorated with looping filagrees and stencilled wood. Iron street lamps stand on either side of it, banishing the darkness with diffuse pink light under a thick canopy of trees, their bare limbs revealing nesting birds perched like tiny statues among the branches.

The Doctor sets Donna on her feet and slowly exhales, and just like that, time resets itself and starts moving forward again. It’s like a reverse sonic boom. The complete absence of sound is suddenly replaced with a cacophony of noise and movement that leaves Donna reeling and very nearly stumbling to the pavement.

“Easy, easy, easy,” the Doctor says, gripping her firmly by the shoulders until she finds her head again. Then he’s suddenly pulling her into a fierce embrace, his body trembling against hers and his fingers urgently burying themselves in her thick hair.

“Are you all right?” he gasps, his voice cracking raggedly.

“I..,” she stammers, still somewhat disoriented, “I think so.”

“Are you sure?” He pulls away from her, holding her at arms length. “Show me your neck.”

“It... It’s fine, see,” she says, carefully rotating her neck, “just a bit sore.”

He eyes her for a moment, as if trying to convince himself that she’s indeed safe and standing in front of him. Then he pulls her to him again, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as his breath disintegrates into short ragged bursts.

Donna wraps her arms around him. “Are _you_ all right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice splintering into a somewhat hysterical chuckle, “I just saw my entire life flash before my eyes back there, that’s all.”

Donna’s mouth quirks wanly at that. “Must have been quite a show,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling again. 

She lifts his head from her shoulder, her hands caressing his face as she stares into his ancient eyes, warm and brown just as they should be and sketched with laugh lines. 

“What did you do?” she asks.

The Doctor swallows, looking suddenly guilty. “I needed it to stop,” he says.

“Time,” Donna says, a bit hesitantly, “you stopped… time.” Somehow saying it out loud makes it seem twice as surreal. “You can do that?”

He sighs. “It’s hard,” he says, “and I haven’t done it in a really long time, but yeah, I can do that.”

He might as well have told her he could fly. 

“Did it scare you?” he asks.

“A little,’ Donna admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

He swallows and nods, his expression unreadable, then he shrugs off his coat. “Here, take this,” he says, handing it to Donna, “it’s starting to snow again.”

“Why?” she asks, seeing something unsettling in his eyes. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer, just plucks the sonic from the coat in Donna’s hand and shoves it into his jacket pocket.

“You’re going back,” Donna says, flatly, “to the cafe.” He tries to leave, but she grabs his arm, forcing him to turn back and face her. “To do what?” she demands.

He just looks at her, his dark eyes churning.

“No,” Donna says, defiantly.

“She would have killed you Donna,” he says angrily, gripping her by the shoulders, “she would have killed you and the baby without a moment’s thought.”

_She_ Donna thinks. Somehow knowing that thing might have been someone’s mother makes the whole incident both infinitely worse and far more understandable.

“Right,” she says flatly, “so this is a revenge thing then.”

The Doctor looks suddenly wounded. He drops his hands and abruptly turns away from her.

“You told Jenny that killing changes you,” Donna says, angry now, “that it gets under your skin and eats away at you until you become something else.”

“This is different,” he says, striding away.

“How is it?” Donna demands. She drops his coat onto the bench then runs to catch him up, one hand supporting her heavy belly as she crosses in front of him and cuts him off. “Doctor,” she cries breathlessly, “she lost her entire family.”

He seems to take that as an accusation. “I did what I had to do,” he says, flatly.

“I know,” Donna says, “I heard what you said back there. I’m not judging you for what you did,” she lays her hands on his forearms, gripping his jacket sleeves to keep him from leaving, “but right now the _Earth_ isn’t being threatened. The fate of the universe doesn’t hang in the balance. We’re talking about one desperate creature, mad with rage and grief. If you do this, then there’ll be no difference between you.”

“It _is_ different,” he insists.

“How is it?!” she shouts, crying now, not because she’s upset, but because she’s angry and frustrated and her hormonal body turns every strong emotion to tears, “tell me!”

“Because it was you!” he yells back, his voice cracking. “Because it was you and she nearly…” he breaks off, his hand covering his forehead as his face collapses.

Donna closes the space between them, her hands pressed against his heaving chest. “Exactly,” she says, tears rolling down her flushed cheeks, “she tried to hurt me and now you want to hurt her back.”

The Doctor clings to her, holding her so tightly she’s nearly breathless, his face buried in her shoulder.

“What you did back there,” she tells him, “it’s not what scared me. It was the look in your eyes that did it. All that emptiness. Like a void inside you.”

A muscle works in the Doctor’s jaw as he slowly raises his head to look at her, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

“You already live with so many regrets,” Donna says, taking his face in her hands, “don’t use _me_ as an excuse to add another one. Please Doctor, for both our sakes, just let it go.”

Something within him eases a little at her words. Some burden that he’s been carrying around for years. Donna can see it falling away from him like so much excess baggage. She throws her arms around his neck and he gathers her to him, nearly lifting her off her feet. He closes his eyes and slowly exhales a long shuddering breath, almost as if he’s been holding it in all his life, a poison finally leaving his system.

“Where did you come from Donna Noble,” he murmurs softly, his chin resting comfortably on the top of her head.

“Chiswick,” Donna says, chuckling through her tears.

The Doctor quietly chuckles along with her. “Thank you,” he says.

“For what?” Donna asks.

He pulls away from her, looking into her eyes as he holds her in his arms. “For saving me,” he says, “again.”

Donna smiles, her hand lightly caressing his cheek. “Anytime Spaceman,” she says.

The niggling little twinge in her back blossoms into a full blown spasm and Donna groans suddenly, gripping the Doctor’s arm for support.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

“Nauseous,” Donna gasps, licking her lips, “really really nauseous. Need to sit down.”

He helps her over to the bench and she lowers herself somewhat awkwardly into the seat. He sits down beside her, his cool hand slowly rubbing her unsettled belly as she leans against him, breathing deeply until the nausea passes.

“Better?” the Doctor asks and Donna nods.

“Bit like a roller-coaster this pregnancy thing,” she says wryly, “always seems to be a toss-up between screaming and throwing up.”

His lips quirk somewhat ruefully at that. “You may be suffering some after effects of the temporal displacement,” he says, “it’ll pass. Here,” he says, climbing to his feet, “lie down.” 

He eases Donna onto her side and drapes his coat over her, then he takes a seat on the cold ground, his back against the edge of the seat in front of her. Donna runs her fingers through his softly disheveled hair and the Doctor leans his head back, gazing at her through half-closed eyes.

“I still have to go back,” he says.

“I know,” Donna says, simply.

“The _Judoon_ aren’t exactly known for their subtlety,” he says, “innocent people could get caught in the crossfire.”

“I know,” Donna says, even though she knows he’s lying, or at least not telling her the entire truth. 

He’s afraid to tell her that Jocrassa might try to get to him by coming after her again, but she already knows. She can see it on his face. Her mind strays back to the cafe and Jocrassa’s twisted face inches from her own. She swallows and shivers, suddenly afraid.

“It’ll be all right,” the Doctor says, cupping her chin in his hand, “I promise. Just stay _here_ yeah? No unscheduled trips to the bathroom.”

Donna’s mouth quirks slightly at that. “Tell _him_ ,” she says, her eyes straying to her swollen belly bulging beneath the Doctor’s coat.

He rolls onto his knees, his hands gently caressing her belly. “Stay off Mum’s bladder,” he murmurs softly, “there’s a good boy.”

The baby kicks and they smile at each other for a moment before the Doctor kisses her softly on the lips.

I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Donna gathers his coat more tightly around herself after he leaves, shivering in the rose hued darkness. It smells of him, of stardust and possibilities. She lays down on the bench, breathing in his scent, watching something that resembles an owl watching her through the snow dusted trees. It cocks its head at her, regarding her with its wide alien eyes and Donna swallows and shrinks further into the Doctor’s coat, remembering the enraged hollows of Jocrassa’s dead black eyes staring at her. She shivers, her eyelids sliding shut as she futilely tries to block the images from her mind.

~~~

Donna wakes with a start some time later, her back cramping painfully. She sits up, a fine layer of snow falling like dust from the Doctor’s crumpled coat. She doesn’t know how much time has passed since he left. She looks up, wincing at the sudden twinge in her stiff neck. She kneads it away with her fingers as she eyes the three moons hanging like a triad in the sky, sporadically visible behind thick banks of swiftly moving clouds. A stiff wind blows through the bare trees, their snow covered branches creaking eerily in the silvery darkness. Donna shivers, gathering the Doctor’s coat like a blanket around her as fine flakes of snow whirl and eddy through the air in icy whirlpools.

A little hand presses against her belly and Donna covers it with her own as she senses movement from the tree lined path in front of her suddenly.

“Hello?” she calls out, squinting into the darkness. “is someone there?”

Two roughly human sized shapes are making their way towards her through the darkness, their eyes glowing eerily in the intermittent moonlight. Donna starts, grabbing the back of the park bench and awkwardly pulling herself to her feet as they approach, hugging the Doctor’s coat to her belly like a talisman.

“Wh..who’s there?” she demands, her voice trembling, terrified that Jocrassa’s partners from the news report have tracked her down, “do...don’t you dare come any closer,” she stammers, skirting around the edge of the park bench, placing it between herself and whatever new threat approaches.

The inky figures emerge from the path, stepping into the lamplight. Donna yelps in fright before they abruptly resolve themselves into Muriel Flemming and her grandson Nelson. 

“Oh _there_ you are Dear,” Muriel cries as she hurries to Donna’s side, a cloth bundle wrapped in her hands.

Donna sags with relief against the wood accented bench, her face glistening with sweat despite the cold.

“I’m so sorry if we frightened you Dear,” Muriel says somewhat sheepishly, handing Donna the bundle, “the Doctor asked me to bring you this.”

Donna’s coat. She stares at it, her fear all but forgotten as she snatches it from the older woman’s hands. “The Doctor,” she says, “where is he? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine Dear,” Muriel says kindly, patting Donna’s hand as she awkwardly pulls on her coat, “he’s...I believe his exact words were, _unraveling a bit of red tape_.” 

She hands Donna a delicate looking handkerchief, trimmed with lace and the initials MF monogrammed in fine gold thread. Donna accepts it with a grateful smile, blotting her clammy face as Muriel goes on. “He asked us to make sure you made it back to the train all right,” she says, “and to tell you that he’ll be along just as soon as he can.”

“Nan,” a whinging teenaged voice murmurs from several feet away, “can we _go_ now?”

Muriel’s perpetual smile twists into a slight frown as she knowingly rolls her eyes at Donna. “Yes, yes,” she says, her voice oozing patience, “not to worry Nels, you’ll be out of the fresh air and back behind a virtual reality display screen in no time at all I’m sure.” 

Donna’s mouth quirks into a wan smile as Muriel takes her hand. “Best to hurry along Dear,” she says, “the natives are growing restless.”

Donna grabs the Doctor’s coat from the back of the bench and follows, joining Nelson by the edge of the path, his eyes glowing catlike in the silvery darkness. She can see why the Doctor has entrusted her to his safekeeping. He’s young, Donna estimates no older than 15, or 16, but formidable looking. Taller than the Doctor and twice as wide. Donna might be intimidated if not for the guileless look on his boyishly smooth face.

She feels a growing pressure beneath her belly button, the baby’s head she guesses. He doesn’t seem to be kicking so much as trying to stretch past the confines of her cramped uterus. She swallows, a vague queasiness gnawing at her stomach as she follows the two _Plasmavores_ onto the tree lined path.

“Don’t worry Dear,” Muriel says, giving Donna’s arm a reassuring squeeze, her glowing eyes luminous in the snowy night, “we see quite well in the dark.”

Donna swallows and nods, trying to get past the feeling that she’s being spirited away by two of _Dracula’s_ minions. 

“Scandalous, all this business of escaped convicts and stolen buses, don’t you think,” Muriel says, smiling gleefully as they emerge from the path onto the snow covered cobblestones, “but your young Doctor’s sorted it. Why didn’t you tell us he was the Head Detective Chief Inspector in charge of Scotland Yard’s Interplanetary Division?”

_The psychic paper strikes again_ , Donna thinks. Aloud she says, “so the, the...convicts, they’ve been caught then?”

“Oh yes Dear,” Muriel says, excitedly, “it’s been all over the news vids.” She raises her hand, framed against the swirling snow and the well lit train station in the distance. “Desperate criminals’ apprehended, New Strasbourg rampage comes to an abrupt end,” she intones gravely, before dissolving into infectious giggles.

Nelson rolls his eyes, as Donna chuckles along with Muriel, giddy with relief. “No one was hurt then?” she asks.

“No, no one,” Muriel assures her, “your young man saw to that. She links her arm through Donna’s as they approach the shining station. “The local authorities were quite out of their depth you know,” she goes on, “and the _Judoon_ …well,” she says with a shrug, “let’s just say the _Judoon_ may be known for ‘always getting their man,’ but they don’t exactly concern themselves with who may be standing in their way when they do.” She grins, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just between you and me Dear, it was a very good thing that your young Doctor was there to take proper charge of the situation. From what I’ve heard he single-handedly managed to talk the desperadoes into surrendering peacefully, which if you know anything at all about the _Slitheen_ is practically unheard of.”

Nelson snorts explosively. “Oh please,” he says, rolling his eyes, “was he wearing a red cape at the time?”

Muriel wrinkles her nose at him. “Don’t be such a cynic Nels,” she says, “where’s all this post-adolescent idealism I’m always hearing about?”

“You can’t believe everything you hear Nan,” Nelson says, as if talking to a very young, very thick, child, “the news vids didn’t even mention him.”

Donna smiles slightly at that. The Doctor is always brilliant in a crisis, but rubbish at sticking around after it’s over. Strange that he hasn’t come back yet she thinks, her brow creasing slightly in concern, if the danger had truly passed there would have been no need to send Muriel and Nelson in his place. 

Donna nervously nibbles her thumbnail as they enter the station, her back blossoming in another painful spasm as they approach the steaming train.

“Are you quite all right Dear?” Muriel asks, eyeing her thoughtfully. “You’re very pale.”

Donna swallows, smiling weakly at the older woman. “I’m fine,” she says, “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day, that’s all.”

“Yes, of course,” Muriel says, squeezing her hand.

The train sits silver and gleaming upon the tracks, hydraulic pistons hissing theatrically amid the clouds of rising steam like something out of an old black and white film. It’s all for show of course. The train’s real power source is hidden beneath a facade of old-fashioned quaintness.

One of the young porters is standing on the edge of the metal steps leading up to the passenger cars, checking them in as they return from their day trips. Not the one the Doctor was speaking with earlier, the other, darker one with the earring and the electric blue streaks in his hair.

“Excuse me,” Donna says, as he checks her name against the clipboard in his hand, “it’s Trent, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss,” the young porter says, with a tip of his box-like hat.

Donna smiles at him. “What time will the train be leaving the station?” she asks.

“Midnight exactly, Miss,” he says. “Arriving in New Vienna at 7 AM sharp.” 

“What’s the time now?” she asks.

Trent removes an old-fashioned silver fob watch from the pocket of his waistcoat and pops it open. “9:02 PM precisely Miss,” he says.

Donna pulls on her lower lip, nervously glancing over her shoulder towards the station’s entrance. There’s no sign of the Doctor. She hugs his coat a bit more tightly to herself, “I don’t suppose there’s any wiggle-room in that?” she asks.

“Sorry Miss,” the young man says with an apologetic shake of his head, “Mr. Carson is very keen about keeping to schedule.”

Mr. Carson the engineer. Donna remembers being introduced along with the other passengers their first night on board. She recalls him as a pleasant, but somewhat reserved older man with close-cropped steel grey hair and a very professional no-nonsense attitude regarding his duties.

Donna casts another anxious glance over her shoulder towards the station’s entrance. She recognises some of the other passengers, trickling in through the turnstiles. A few of them calling out farewells to the friends and family members seeing them off. None of them are the Doctor. She’s tempted to go out looking for him herself, but the truth it she doesn’t have the stamina for that sort of thing these days. 

“Not to worry Dear,” Muriel says, giving Donna’s arm a reassuring squeeze, “I’m sure the Doctor will be along any time now.”

Donna smiles and nods, “I’m sure you’re right,” she says, trying to convince herself of it as well.

~~~

Nearly three hours later, there’s still no sign of him.

“What’s the time?” she asks Muriel for the fifth time in under twenty minutes. They’re sitting in the dining car, surrounded by the other passengers constant chatter. No one had been ready to call it a night after the excitement of the day’s events.

“There are still a few minutes left Dear,” Muriel says, her voice somewhat strained as she makes a point of not looking at her watch. She pours them both another cup of tea from the kettle sitting on the table, her grandson completely oblivious as he sits next to her, staring at the virtual reality display in his hands.

Donna swallows, staring at the amber liquid inside her cup, her mouth twisting into a sudden grimace as her back spasms. She heaves herself up from the table, wending her way through the chatting passengers blocking the aisle on her way to the exit at the other end of the compartment.

“Don’t do anything rash Dear,” Muriel calls after her, just as the train begins to inch forward, Trent the porter pulling the exit doors closed and sealing them with the turn of a giant lever as Donna approaches. She nearly stumbles into him, swept off her feet by the accelerating movement of the train. 

“Easy Miss,” Trent says, steadying her, his hand accidentally grazing her swollen belly before he snatches it away with a look of vague embarrassment. 

Donna barely notices. “You have to stop the train,” she cries, breathlessly.

“Sorry? What?” Trent asks, blinking in confusion.

“The Doctor, my, my...friend,” Donna stammers, “he hasn’t come back yet.”

“It’ll be all right Dear,” Muriel says softly, coming up behind her in the aisle, “I’m sure he’ll be waiting at the next stop.”

“No,” Donna insists, “he wouldn’t just… something must have happened to him.” She turns towards the wide-eyed young porter. “Please,” she begs him, nearly hysterical now, “you have to stop the train. We have to go back!”

“I’m sorry Miss,” Trent says, pale in the face of a distraught pregnant woman, “but it’s impossible. Your friend can re-board at New Vienna.”

“Please come back to the table Dear,” Muriel pleads with her, tugging lightly on Donna’s hand. “It isn’t good for you to get so upset. You’ll only end up exhausting yourself.”

“No,” Donna snaps, irritated at how everyone is always trying to “handle” her, as if allowances need to be made for her “condition.” The chatter abruptly ceases, the other passengers staring at her as if she’s in the midst of some sort of nervous collapse. 

“I’m not emotionally distraught,” she says after taking several deep breaths. “I’m perfectly calm. See?” Of course the hormone induced tears sliding down her cheeks aren’t exactly winning her case for her. Her eyes return to the young porter’s face, “I’m completely rational and I am telling you, either turn this train around right now, or stop it and let me off!”

Trent looks utterly horrified for a moment, but whether it’s in fear of incurring the engineer’s wrath or hers, Donna can’t tell. He swallows, nervously licking his lips before the door connecting the dining car to the passenger compartments abruptly slides open and the Doctor suddenly appears, breathless and panting in the doorway.

“Whew,” he gasps, gradually regaining his breath, his brown suit rumpled and hanging slightly askew on his lanky frame, “had to run the entire way.” He looks up, noticing for the first time that every eye in the compartment is upon him, “Oh hullo,” he says, smiling nervously, “What’d I miss?”

Everyone starts talking at once, galvanized by the Doctor’s sudden appearance. Their excited chatter fills the compartment as Donna bursts into tears, her back blossoming in pain as she throws her arms around his neck in a giant hug.

“Steady on,” the Doctor chuckles, staggering slightly under the force of their unexpected embrace. “Hang on,’ he says, abruptly sobering as she sobs against him. “What’s all this then?”

Donna suddenly pulls away from him and swats him sharply on the arm.

“Oi!” The Doctor cries, clutching his wiry bicep. “What was that for?”

“For making me think you were…” Donna breaks off, sniffing tears. “Where _were_ you?” she demands.

“I already told you,” he says. “Didn’t you get my message?” he asks, his eyes seeking out Muriel Flemming’s face among the crowd.

“Yes, I got your message,” Donna snaps at him, “but what’s it even mean, _untangling red tape_. I thought it was some sort of code for everything’s gone horribly pear-shaped, but I don’t want to worry you so I’m lying like a throw-rug again.”

His expression turns somewhat sheepish at that. “No,” he says, “it was code for… You need to sit down, Donna.”

“I what?” she says, blinking in confusion. “What the hell kind of insane messages are you sending me anyway?”

“No,” the Doctor says, propping her up as she wearily leans against him, “you need to sit down. You shouldn’t have waited up for me. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m not,” she says, “I’m...” Of course now that he’s pointed it out to her, she realises how tired she really is. All her limbs suddenly feel as if they’ve got lead weights attached to them.

“Here,” he says, steering her towards the closest shrug. She awkwardly lowers herself onto the edge of the seat, the Doctor kneeling in the aisle in front of her. 

The noise around them is beginning to die down as the rest of the passengers splinter off into smaller groups and begin making their way back to their rooms. The excitement of the day falling away like a bad dream as the train steadily picks up speed.

“Time for us to turn in as well, I think,” the Doctor says, as he exchanges quiet pleasantries with them on their way out. He looks nearly as exhausted as she feels Donna thinks, his brown eyes bloodshot and glassy looking. 

“Not until you tell me where you were,” Donna says stubbornly, just because she’s about to fall over doesn’t mean she’s going to let him off the hook for all the worry he’s caused her.

He looks as if he’s about to argue the point with her, but suddenly seems to think better of it, recognizing the stubborn set to her jaw. With a resigned sigh, he slides into the seat across from her, leaning wearily against the paisley slip cover at his back. 

“I talked Jocrassa and her adopted sisters into surrendering peacefully by offering them a deal,” he says.

“What sort of deal?” Donna asks.

“Well, the _Slitheen_ are a sort of well known crime family back on _Raxacoricofallapatorius_ ,” he says, “the authorities there have had a price on their heads for years.”

“Raxo-what-now?”

_Raxacoricofallapatorius_ ,” he says patiently, “it’s where they’re from.”

Donna blinks. “You just made that up,” she says flatly.

“No, I didn’t,” the Doctor says a bit indignantly, “the _Slitheen_ home world is called _Raxacoricofallapatorius_.” Donna’s eyes narrow doubtfully. “Really,” he insists, “and don’t look so shocked. Not everyone’s as on the nose about naming planets as human beings are you know.”

“Whatever,” Donna says, rolling her eyes, “so what about _Supercalifragilisticexpialidocius_?” Now she’s just taking the mickey, and he knows it too.

“ _Raxacoricofallapatorius_ ,” he says flatly, “Jocrassa and her foster family would have been facing the death penalty there, and let’s just say their laws regarding the ethical treatment of prisoners are fairly nonexistent.”

Donna considers that for a moment as the baby jabs her in the diaphragm. She winces, swallowing queasily as her back again contracts in a tight band of pain.

“All right?” the Doctor asks, eyeing her with some concern.

She nods, licking her lips as she leans forward a bit, her forehead dropping into her hand. “You were saying something about a deal,” she says.

The Doctor frowns slightly, “I called in a few favors and managed to get their sentence commuted to life on _Cyberia_ instead. It’s a sort of virtual reality prison world,” he explains at the blank look on Donna’s face.

“I see,” Donna says softly, “and that’s preferable is it?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Where there’s life there’s hope,” he says.

Donna eyes him thoughtfully for a moment. “Preferable for _you_ , I meant,” she says.

The Doctor’s mobile face suddenly turns to stone. “The truth?” he asks. “I’d have gladly sent all three of them to their deaths, but I knew you’d prefer it this way.”

Oddly enough, Donna finds herself smiling slightly at that. He could have easily lied to make himself look better, but there’s a certain vulnerability in his willingness to admit his true feelings to her, especially since they cast him in a less than favorable light. For an alien, he can be very human sometimes.

“I do,” Donna says softly, covering his hand with hers on the table, “so, when you mentioned red tape?”

“I was speaking literally,” he says, his expression somewhat pained, “I was filling out paperwork,” the last word uttered as if it’s left a bad taste in his mouth.

“You filled out paperwork for me?” Donna asks, her eyes filling with tears at the very thought. Somehow knowing that he’s willing to do something so mind numbingly mundane for her shows the depth of his feeling far better than fighting off any alien attack ever could.

“Of course I did,” the Doctor says softly, his mouth quirking into a wan smile, “I’d do anything for you, Donna. You know that.”

“Thank you,” she says simply, returning the smile.

~~~

Despite their mutual exhaustion, sleep eludes them. Lying next to him back in their suite, the steady rhythm of the train rolling over the tracks vibrating hypnotically up through the bed, Donna’s brain refuses to shut down. She closes her eyes and sees bulbous alien faces with black pits for eyes staring back at her.

He’d carried her back to their room, sitting her down on the edge of the bed and carefully undressing her down to her lacy white camisole, stretched taut over her bulging belly, her convex bellybutton forming a little peak in the middle of the material. Utterly spent, she’d pulled on her flannel pajama bottoms, then lain back on top of the bed covers as the Doctor stripped down to his tee shirt, kicking off his trainers and pulling on his own flannel bottoms before joining her.

They lay there for a while, side by side, staring at the curved metal ceiling in exhausted silence. Donna’s back spasms in a painful swath that radiates out across her abdomen and she awkwardly rolls onto her side, the Doctor lifting his arm so she can rest her head against his chest. He holds her close, his thumb tracing a light pattern on her shoulder as she breathes deeply until the pain subsides and he stares up at the curved ceiling, sleep seemingly just out of reach. Donna sighs and leans against him, they’ve never had a problem staying close. Despite her changing body, they always seem to fit together. 

It all boils down to moments she thinks, as she lays next to him. Moments like this one that somehow make up a life. She thinks about how close they came to losing it all this afternoon, and is suddenly afraid.

“It’s always hardest on the one that’s left behind,” she murmurs, breathing in his scent as she melts against him, trying to banish her fears back into the darkness.

“What’s that?” the Doctor asks, his stubble covered chin falling against her forehead.

“Just something Muriel Flemming told me,” Donna says, “she and her husband were together for sixty years, but now he’s gone and she’s alone. Someone’s always left alone in the end.”

The Doctor sighs, staring off into the darkness for a moment. “Why is it that people get married do you suppose?” he suddenly asks.

Donna blinks, startled by the unexpected question. “Isn’t it because they fall in love?” she asks a bit hesitantly.

“No, that’s not it, or at least that’s not the only reason,” the Doctor says, shaking his head, “you can love someone your entire life and never marry them.”

Donna eyes him for a moment. “Why then,” she asks.

“It’s because we need a witness to our life,” he says softly. “When we marry it’s like a promise. You’re saying that your life will not go unnoticed because _I_ will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed because _I_ will be your witness. For as long as I live, your life will have meaning because it will mean everything to me.”

Donna swallows past the sudden lump in her throat. “But how can anyone possibly witness _your_ life for more than a moment,” she asks, her voice cracking. “The Time Lords are gone. Humans don’t regenerate.”

“Yes, you do,” he murmurs, his hand caressing her warm belly, “like _this_. Everything that you are. Everything that’s inside you. A part of it will live on in him. And in his children, and in his children’s children.”

“Yes, but, _you’ll_ still be alone,” Donna insists, “even if I live to be a hundred, our moment will end. One day you’ll blink and I’ll be gone.”

“Donna,” the Doctor murmurs, his mouth quirking slightly, “you don’t cry when the moment ends,” he says, his cool fingers caressing her cheek and slowly running through her hair, “you smile, because it happened.” 

“You say that now,” Donna says softly, “but I’ve seen the pain you live with. Sometimes I think it’d just be easier to leave and spare you any more.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispers, his ancient brown eyes finding hers in the darkness. “That void inside me,” he murmurs softly, “ _you_ fill it.”

“And after I’m gone,” she says, wondering how far he would have gone earlier if she hadn’t been there to pull him back from the brink, “what will fill it then?”

One side of the Doctor’s mouth quirks into a tiny half-smile as he stares intently at her. “The memory of you,” he says. 

There’s an unspoken promise in the words. A promise that he won’t betray her trust in him again by going too far, even after she’s gone. 

Donna’s mouth quirks wanly as she slowly runs her hand along the length of his chest. The Doctor captures it in his, brushing the backs of her swollen fingers with his lips in a feathery soft kiss. Their lives are moving at different speeds she thinks with some regret. They’ll never have a perfect fairy tale ending, but then few people do in the end she supposes. 

“It’s not the endings that matter,” the Doctor says, seeming to read her mind, “but the bits in between that make life interesting.”

Donna’s smile gradually warms. “Okay,” she says and that’s _her_ unspoken promise to live in the moment with him. She won’t fear the future anymore. Whatever it brings, they’ll face it together. 

The Doctor returns the smile and presses his lips to her forehead in a tender kiss. “Donna,” he says softly, “there’s something I’ve been trying to ask…” he falters suddenly, tilting his head towards the snow caked window behind them.

“What is it?” Donna asks, blankly following his gaze.

“We’re slowing down,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

“Are we?”

They sit up. Donna’s back cramps painfully. She closes her eyes, swallowing queasily as the Doctor throws his long legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet disappearing into the plush carpeting. 

After a moment even Donna can detect the train’s gradual decline in speed. “We are,” she murmurs as the Doctor abruptly stands and plucks his trousers off the back of the desk chair.

Donna leans over and turns on the lamp next to the bed, blinking rapidly in the sudden flood of golden light.

“Couldn’t we just have arrived early at the next station?” she asks.

The Doctor shakes his head, pulling his trainers on over his bare feet. “It’s 2 AM,” he says. “Our top speed is 130 kilometers per hour. There’s no way we could have reached New Vienna in under seven hours.”

“A stop to refuel then,” she says as the train grinds to a rocking halt amid the hydraulic hiss of pistons.

“The train runs by electromagnetic induction,” he says, “as long as it remains in contact with the rails, it’ll keep going. Anyway listen to that wind,” he says, cocking his head thoughtfully, “we’re in a canyon.”

Donna listens to the banshee like wind eerily whistling past the windows, the train rocking slightly in the face of it. There’s a soft knock at the door. The Doctor waits for Donna to hastily pull on her robe before answering it.

“Ah Valentine, hullo,” he says pleasantly when the young porter whom he’d been talking to at breakfast the morning before, ducks his head into the room. “Have you met my…” an awkward pause as he indicates Donna with a sweep if his arm, “Donna.”

“Miss,” Valentine says, with a nod and a tip of his box like hat. “Sorry to disturb Doctor,” he continues, “but Mr. Carson is asking that all the able-bodied passengers report to the Dining Car as soon as possible. I’m afraid we’ve run into a bit of weather.”

“Thought so,” the Doctor says, frowning knowingly, “blizzard is it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Valentine says. “We were scheduled for a snow shield upgrade next month, but it wasn’t considered a priority since it’s highly unusual for a storm like this to hit so early in the year.”

“Course it is,” the Doctor says flatly, “but that’s only because _I’ve_ never been here before and the universe obviously hates me.”

“Sir?” Valentine asks, startling slightly at the comment.

“Oh yes,” the Doctor says nodding bitterly, “ _hates_ me, which is just… so… wrong, especially considering everything I’ve done for it.”

“Right,” Valentine says, eyeing the Doctor as if he’s suddenly sprouted an extra head, “well I’ve a few more passengers to notify, so I’ll be taking my leave.” He nods, throwing them a final tip of his hat. “Doctor. Miss.” 

The Doctor slides the door shut behind him and angrily snatches his suit jacket from the chair, buttoning it up over his tee shirt.

Donna eyes him thoughtfully from the bed. “Are you all right?” she asks.

“Peachy!” he snaps testily, before forcing himself to relax with a weary sigh. “Sorry,” he says a bit sheepishly. “I’m fine. I’m just… tired.” 

The baby stretches, nestling against her belly as she watches him pull on his coat. “Should I be worried?” she asks.

“Of course not,” he says lightly, “we’ll be back underway in no time at all. You’ll see.” 

He joins her on the edge of the bed, tilting her chin up to kiss her goodbye. Donna impulsively throws her arms around his neck before he leaves, burying her face in his shoulder as he lays his chin on the top of her head.

“Promise me you’ll try to get some sleep while I’m gone,” he says, softly.

“I’ll try,” she says. 

His cool fingers caress her face for a moment before he reluctantly stands up, throwing the door aside and sliding it shut behind him when he leaves. Donna listens to his lithe footsteps growing fainter as he retreats down the corridor, her back contracting in a painful swath that radiates out across her abdomen as she leans over to turn out the light. 

She grips the edge of the night table until it passes, then peels off her robe, laying it across the foot of the bed before awkwardly turning onto her side and falling headlong into tumultuous sleep.

~~~

She wakes every ten minutes or so, the flaring ache in her back cutting through turbulent dreams filled with surreal images of pink snow, bulbous faces, motionless sky dancers and eerily glowing eyes. Her stomach becomes increasingly unsettled until she finally emerges from her dreams with a groggy sigh, swallowing queasily as she blinks at the digital display glowing 3:30 AM on the night table.

The baby shifts and she has to pee. She climbs out of bed and heads to the bathroom, her unsettled stomach gurgling ominously as she goes. She’s sitting on the toilet when she suddenly realizes she’s going to be sick. She slides off, unvoided urine dribbling between her legs as she vomits into the toilet. She clutches the seat, her back in painful spasm while her swollen belly heaves. Trembling now, she rips off a wad of toilet paper and cleans herself up, before pulling her pajama bottoms back up.

She’s dying of thirst. She fumbles with the cellophane wrapping on one of the glasses sitting on the sink, tearing it open and releasing an icy cold torrent from the tap. She leans heavily against the sink, gulping glass after glass, then cups her hands beneath the cascading faucet, splashing the icy liquid onto her face and neck. 

She grabs a towel from the rack, wadding it up and panting into it as she blots herself dry with shaking hands. Her back goes into spasm again, radiating out in a painful swath across her abdomen and suddenly the urge to get out is overwhelming, a compulsion she can’t ignore. 

She flees into the bedroom and plucks her robe from the end of the bed, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil as she shrugs it on. She doesn’t bother with tying it closed before she slides the door open and stumbles into the corridor. She only knows she has to go, she has to flee the claustrophobic space and she has to do it now.

She starts to feel better once she’s walking the corridor. The movement clears her head and she’s able to calm her breathing down to something approaching normal. She’s not sure _what_ that was back there. A panic attack maybe, or post-traumatic stress from her encounter with the _Slitheen_. 

Her back spasms again blooming across her abdomen in a tight band of pain and she stops, her breath taken away. She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth until it passes. There’s a light on in the dining car. She heads towards it, her fingers brushing the doors of the other passenger compartments as she goes. 

She slides the door open and steps into the dining car. Muriel Flemming is sitting in one of the booths chatting with a blond man wearing a neck brace, their eyes constantly drawn to the windows as they speak.

“Oh there you are Dear,” Muriel calls to Donna, waving her over. 

Donna manages a weak smile, sitting down at the table when Muriel slides nearer to the window to give her room.

“Have you met Reverend Holiday Dear?” Muriel asks, indicating the injured man sitting across from them with a tilt of her head, “He’s just on his way to join the parish at New Vienna, you know.”

The Reverend favors her with an enthusiastic if somewhat pained smile and Donna returns it, breaking into a grimace when her back spasms again, radiating pain in a bright swath across her back and abdomen.

“My last appointment was in New Milan,” the Reverend is saying, amicably, “I thought I’d take one last ski holiday before leaving and I’m afraid _this_ was the rather unfortunate result,” he says gesturing towards the stiff brace encasing his neck. 

“I..I’m sorry to hear that,” Donna says a bit breathlessly. Tiny beads of sweat have sprung out across her face and neck. She can feel it trickling between her breasts and sliding down her round belly underneath her clammy camisole.

“Yes, well,” the Reverend is saying, “such is my punishment for thinking too highly of my skills as a skier.”

“Oh I say my Dear,” Muriel says, clutching Donna’s arm in sudden glee, “this _is_ exciting isn’t it. A blizzard. How thrilling!” She looks out the window, an excited smile tugging at her lips. “I must say your young man is quite the take charge type isn’t he,” she goes on, tapping her finger against the glass, “he’s got everyone working together, including my worthless excuse for a grandson. I believe the correct term is _tough love_ ” she says with a chuckle, patting Donna’s hand, “Don’t spread it around, but I think Nelson’s taken quite a shine to your young Doctor.” Her eyes stray to the window. “There he is, see,” she says with a nod and Donna cranes her neck to see past the older woman’s head and out to the snowy landscape beyond.

The Doctor is standing in the swirling snow, the edges of his long coat flapping in the stiff wind. He’s holding a torch in one hand and a snow shovel in the other, pointing with the torch as he shouts directions to someone that Donna can’t see. He looks up suddenly, as if he can somehow sense their eyes upon him, grinning at them through the frosted glass. He winks and blows Donna a kiss, before suddenly shouting at someone and bounding off a moment later.

Donna can’t help but smile. World’s oldest boy, she thinks. Then her back goes into spasm again and she finds herself painfully digging her fingernails into her palms to keep from crying out. 

She heaves herself up from the table, muttering some sort of apology as she retreats from her bemused companions and begins to slowly pace up and down the aisle. 

Reverend Holiday soon tires of watching her, turning his entire body to resume looking out the window, but Muriel continues to eye her thoughtfully as she restlessly paces.

“You should try to conserve your strength Dear,” Muriel says, suddenly by her side, “you’ll need it for later.”

“Later?” Donna asks.

“How far apart are they?” 

Donna stares blankly at the smiling woman.

“The contractions,” Muriel clarifies.

“The…” Donna hisses in pain, her fingers splayed out beneath the curve of her bulging belly as a particularly painful spasm grips her.

Muriel gives her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re in labour Dear,” she says, gently. 

An alarmed shout goes up outside and the dining car is suddenly heaving and bucking like a roller coaster as a tidal wave like roar fills the air. Donna shrieks, she and Muriel grabbing hold of the seats closest to them, linking arms as the train suddenly pitches on to its side, or starts to anyway. 

The Reverend Holiday blanches, clutching the edge of the table across the aisle as a huge snow bank looms outside the windows, breaking their momentum as they slide into it. The train is suddenly plunged into darkness as it comes to rest at a shallow angle against what Donna can only imagine is the canyon wall.

The baby kicks. There’s a soft pop like a water balloon breaking and Donna’s flannel pajamas are suddenly soaked as clear fluid cascades in a rush between her legs. It’s as if a rubber band has snapped inside her. She stands rooted to the spot as it pours out of her, staring at Muriel Flemming’s glowing eyes in growing horror.

She hears the familiar sound of trainers pelting through the snow and the Doctor suddenly bounds onto the train, his feet bouncing on the metal steps leading into the dining car.

“Everyone all right?” he shouts urgently into the near total darkness, “Donna? Are you all right?”

“My...” she says, her voice cracking raggedly as Muriel supports her arm, “my water just broke.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Doctor?” Donna swallows.

“Yes,” he says, and she can hear him scrubbing his stubble covered face in the darkness, “I’m here. Just listening to the universe laughing at me.”

She hears movement and the familiar whirr of the sonic screwdriver before amber colored emergency lights flicker on throughout the cabin, illuminating the Doctor’s drawn face like a sepia photograph.

Another contraction and Donna’s eyes grow wide as her breath catches in her throat. Without the cushioning amniotic fluid between her and the baby, it suddenly feels as if she’s being ground between two mill stones turning in opposite directions.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, and the Doctor is suddenly there, standing in front of her. 

“Oh my God,” she whispers again, burying her face in his shoulder. She can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t think.

He stoops towards her. “Clasp your hands around my neck,” he says. “Donna,” he says sharply when she doesn’t respond, lifting her arms to his shoulders himself, “clasp your hands around my neck.”

She screws her eyes shut, hissing in pain, but manages to do as she’s told, lacing her fingers around the back of his neck. The Doctor straightens to his full height, lifting Donna onto her toes in the process, his cool hands gently kneading the small of her back as she sighs in relative relief. 

“How long have you been having contractions?” he asks, noting her clammy skin and pallid complexion.

Donna swallows, remembering that first twinge back at the cafe when the _Slitheen_ had burst through the bathroom door. “Since the cafe this afternoon I guess,” she says, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks.

His eyes grow suddenly wide. “Donna, that was twelve hours ago,” he says sharply. “You’ve been in labour for twelve hours and didn’t think to tell me?”

“Well, I don’t know!” she gasps, “I’ve never been in labour before have I. I didn’t… It didn’t seem...” she stammers, “anyway it only started getting _really_ bad after you left.”

“Doctor,” Muriel asks from across the aisle where she’s helping the injured Reverend Holiday gingerly extricate himself from a slanting shrug, “what’s happened, to the train I mean.”

“Avalanche,” the Doctor says simply.

“Avalanche?!” All three of them cry at once, somewhat hysterically.

The Doctor blinks. “Only a little one,” he says mildly.

“We’re not like, teetering on the edge of a cliff, or anything are we?” Donna asks.

“No, no, no, no,” the Doctor says with a dismissive wave, “we’re just sort of wedged up against the canyon wall that’s all. We’re in no immediate danger,” he says, his eyes falling on Donna’s pale face, “but it doesn’t look as if we’ll be going anywhere for quite a while either.”

Donna swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. “No,” she says, shaking her head, “no, no, no, no.”

“It’ll be fine,” he says, his hands caressing her face, “everything will be all right. I’ll be right here with you the entire time.”

“No, it’s too soon,” she says, her hands clutching desperately at his, “I’m not even thirty-eight weeks.”

“You’re fine,” he says, “anything past thirty-seven is full term.”

“No but, _What To Expect_ says the baby’s lungs need to develop right until the end,” Donna babbles, trying to talk him out of it, “it’s supposed to be especially important for little boys.”

“Donna this _is_ the end,” the Doctor says, looking her in the eyes. “Once your water breaks that’s it, there’s no turning back.” His long fingers caress her swollen belly, “this inside baby’s about to become an outside baby.”

“Oh God,” Donna breathes, closing her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to happen at a nice calm birthing center in Chiswick. She was supposed to be with her friends and her family, her mum and her granddad, not on a derailed train in the middle of a blizzard on some planet whose name she’s forgotten, surrounded by strangers. 

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she babbles, glancing helplessly around the dimly lit dining car, at the paisley covered seats and Formica tables and jute carpeting. He can’t be serious she thinks, he _can’t_ seriously expect her to have the baby here. What if something goes wrong?

As if mocking her fears, her body betrays her with another contraction and Donna stiffens, her breath catching in her throat as the Doctor once again lifts her hands to his neck.

“Breathe Donna,” he says softly, pulling them both up to his full height, “just breathe. It’ll only be worse if you hold your breath.”

Donna breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth until the spasm passes, the Doctor gently kneading her back as she leans against him.

“Shouldn’t someone be timing these?” the Reverend Holiday asks, his voice cracking with tension.

“Six minutes,” the Doctor says, simply, “well, five minutes forty-eight seconds to be precise.” He blinks at the sudden incredulous look on the Reverend’s face. “I’ve got a sort of sixth sense when it comes to time,” he says, with a shrug.

The rest of the passengers have begun filing in to the dining car, powdery snow salting their heavy overcoats, melting to slush on their boots. Muriel Flemming joins her grandson, scowling sullenly as he stamps the snow from his feet, and quickly fills them in on what’s happening. 

The Doctor catches the engineer’s eye from where he’s standing with Donna a bit further up the aisle.

“Ah Mr. Carson there you are,” he says mildly, “I don’t suppose we’ve a doctor on board?”

“What, besides _you_ , you mean?” Carson asks, confused.

“Right,” the Doctor murmurs, mostly to himself, “of course. It _would_ be me, wouldn’t it.”

“There’s an on-call doctor, of course,” Carson says after a moment, “but all the communications systems have been knocked offline and we’ve no way to contact her. The _good_ news is that when we derailed, the emergency beacon automatically activated. Rescue vehicles would have already been dispatched.”

“How long until they get here?” the Doctor asks.

Carson’s mouth twists into a somewhat rueful frown. “Well, that’s just it,” he says, “they’re sub-light buses flying in from New Paris. With this storm it’d be at least six, maybe seven hours I’d say.”

Donna stiffens, groaning softly as another contraction grips her.

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ve got that kind of time,” the Doctor says, eyeing her thoughtfully as he gently massages her back. “Medical supplies then,” he says briskly.

“ _Those_ we’ve got,” Carson says, nodding once. He looks around, “Valentine,” he says, catching the young porter’s eye, “take Trent with you to the control room and bring the emergency medical kits back here, there’s a good lad.”

“Yes, Mr. Carson,” the somewhat overwhelmed looking young man says, dragging his equally bemused coworker along with him.

“Doctor, what can we do?” Muriel asks, the rest of the passengers gathering around them in concern.

The Doctor smiles wearily. “I need more light,” he says. “Torches. Lanterns. Candles. Light and clean linens. Anything and everything you can find.”

“Consider it done,” Muriel says, her grandmotherly voice reassuring as she and the rest of the passengers hop to their assigned tasks.

The young porters reappear, each sporting a fluorescent yellow case in hand. “Medical supplies, Doctor,” Trent calls breathlessly as Mr. Carson joins them.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” the Doctor says as Donna clings to him, averting her eyes as the young porters crowd together, opening the cases and holding them up for him to see.

The Doctor slips on his glasses and frowns thoughtfully at the contents. “Is that it?” he asks.

“Basic first-aid supplies only on board,” Mr. Carson says apologetically. “We’ve a teleport for emergency cases of course, but it’s-”

“Let me guess,” the Doctor says flatly, “offline.”

“Fraid’ so, yeah,” Carson says.

The Doctor sighs, wearily scrubbing his stubble covered face with the palm of his hand. “Right,” he murmurs, thoughtfully, “I _knew_ I should have checked the TARDIS into the baggage car. I was just afraid she’d find it too insulting. He shrugs. “Oh well, no use crying about it now. Looks like we’re gonna be kicking this old skool.”

The two young men eye each other in awkward silence as the Doctor takes a quick visual assessment of the entire compartment.

“There,” he says suddenly, “the last shrug on the left.” All heads turn to regard the downward sloping end of the compartment. “The angle of that table is nearly perfect. Put the medical kits over there. Where’s the cook?” he asks, as Trent and Valentine hurry down the aisle. 

“Here Sir,” a voice calls out as a blunt fingered hand attached to a burly looking bald man stabs the air.

“Right. What’s your name?”

“Cavendish, Sir.”

“Open the kitchen, Cavendish,” the Doctor tells him, “we’ll be needing plenty of boiling water.”

“Cor, blimey,” Cavendish says in wonderment, “I thought they only did that in the movies.”

“For tea,” the Doctor clarifies, “I’m dying for a cuppa. Oh and cups of chipped ice as well.”

“For the tea?” Cavendish asks, blinking in confusion.

“It’s for the _mother_ you daft idiot,” Mr. Carson snaps, “now go and see to it.”

“Got three girls of my own,” he says, nodding at the Doctor as Cavendish quickly slides open the door leading to the kitchen.

The Doctor nods back. “A chair would be helpful,” he says, “or a stool.”

“There’s a stepping stool in the engine room,” Carson says, thoughtfully, “will that do?”

“Perfect,” the Doctor says, as Carson sends Valentine to fetch it.

Donna shudders as another contraction grips her, burying her face in the Doctor’s shoulder. She’s shivering, her body trembling uncontrollably and her teeth chattering though she isn’t cold. She rears back, looking at the Doctor with wide frightened eyes.

“It’s all right. You’re fine. It’s normal,” he reassures her, his cool hands caressing her clammy face, “it’s just your body’s way of preparing for what it’s about to do.”

“I’m afraid,” she gasps, hyperventilating now. She feels as if she’s standing at the center of a huge vortex. Everything spinning out of control around her as she stands alone and helpless to stop it. At the mercy of her labouring body and the new life inside her, demanding entrance into the world.

The Doctor closes his eyes, his fingers spreading slightly as they move to her temples. She feels his mind envelop hers like a warm breeze, calm and vast with experience, bringing order to the chaos spinning inside her head. 

“I’m right here Donna,” he says softly, his voice soothing in her mind, “you’re not alone. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Donna covers his hands with hers, shivering in the dim sepia light, her breath gradually slowing as the Doctor opens his eyes, staring into hers with reassurance and a touch of something else. Guilt maybe? 

“Women have been giving birth for thousands of years Donna,” he says, softly, “and so can you. Your body already knows what to do. All you have to do is listen to it.”

Donna swallows. “Okay,” she says, nodding nervously, “okay.” 

The other passengers have begun filtering back into the dining car, carrying bundles of fresh linens and portable lights. They smile encouragingly at her as they pass. She closes her eyes and groans.

“Does it have to be right here though,” she murmurs, turning her tear streaked face away from the concerned curiosity in their eyes.

“The power’s out Donna,” the Doctor says softly, “there are no emergency lights in the passenger compartments. I managed to boost the battery life in here, but even so I doubt we’ll have more than a few hours worth of light at best.”

He looks up as Mr. Carson and the two young porters busy themselves with sealing the dining car against the cold wind blowing outside. Donna turns her head to follow his gaze, watching the whirling snow caking against the windows like powdered sugar.

“No power,” she murmurs, feeling herself starting to panic again, “does that mean no heat as well?”

“We’ll be fine,” the Doctor assures her, “there are insulated thermal coils built into the train’s superstructure. As long as we seal off the compartment, we should stay warm enough until help arrives.”

“It’s not _us_ I’m worried about,” she says.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to the baby, Donna,” he says, his tone solemn, “I promise.”

Donna swallows. “Okay,” she murmurs, taking him at his word. She has no other choice _but_ to really.

She stiffens, hissing in pain as another contraction grips her, desperately clasping her hands around the Doctor’s neck like a lifeline.

“Four minutes thirty-two seconds,” he says thoughtfully, lifting her onto her toes, his fingers gently working her back.

“You what?” Donna gasps.

“Since your last contraction,” he says, frowning slightly. 

“Should I be pushing, or something?” Donna gasps, her belly hot and tight with pain.

“You’ll know when it’s time,” the Doctor says, “you’re fully effaced, but only about six centimetres dilated.”

She doesn’t even bother asking him how he knows that. “Six?” she cries indignantly, “after twelve hours? Are you freaking kidding me!” Now that the moment is finally here, she just wants it over. She wants this kid out of her and she wants her body back. Now!

“Yeah, that’s why they call it labor Donna,” the Doctor says patiently, “if it were quick and easy, it’d be called something far more pleasant and Wii would have a video game for it, like bowling.”

“That’s it,” she gasps, blinking sweat from her eyes, “as soon as this kid’s born, I’m going home to mother.”

The Doctor’s mouth quirks slightly, before his expression abruptly sobers. “I’m so sorry Donna,” he says ruefully, “for everything. This is all my fault. I never should have brought you here, especially not now. Can you forgive me for being such a fool?”

“It’s not your fault,” Donna says, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth until the pain begins to ease. “Then again, I am sort of preoccupied with the idea of squeezing an entire human being out of my vagina just now, so it’s possible my judgement may be a bit off.”

She can still feel the baby moving between each contraction, nudging and stretching as if he knows his world is about to become a whole lot bigger. Donna swallows, both thrilled and terrified at the thought of holding him in her arms for the first time.

The Doctor sighs. “Come on,” he says, folding her arm through his, “let’s walk for a bit. See if we can’t get things moving along a little faster.”

They begin to pace the aisle together, Donna’s arm linked through his, her soggy pyjama bottoms clinging uncomfortably to her legs as she continues to leak a bit of amniotic fluid with each contraction. She hisses in pain, holding her free hand to the small of her aching back, stopping to clasp both hands around the Doctor’s neck every few minutes when another contraction takes hold.

“See, _this_ is why I never make plans,” the Doctor grumbles suddenly, kneading her back as she groans softly against him.

“You what?” Donna gasps, blinking sweat from her eyes as she looks up at him.

“-and it isn’t as if I haven’t been trying to do it for months you know,” he continues, growing increasingly frustrated, “but things just kept coming up! Genetically engineered living biological weapons. Mad dictators bent on ruling the universe. That nutter at Martha’s wedding with the device that turned everyone’s skin blue. I mean look at that,” he cries, extending his long fingers for Donna to examine, “I’m _still_ digging blue out from underneath my finger nails.”

The rest of the passengers, in the midst of being served tea by the kitchen staff, suddenly look up, mesmerised by the stream of improbable words tumbling from the Doctor’s mouth. Cavendish, on his way over with the Doctor’s tea, seems to suddenly think better of it. He slowly backs away, sipping from the cup in his hand as if to steady his own shaky nerves.

“Next thing I knew you were nine months gone and I was running out of time” the Doctor is saying, “so I… I planned this trip. Even though I _knew_ I was probably cutting it too close.”

Donna cries out as a particularly painful spasm grips her, radiating out in a painful swath across her back and abdomen. 

“Make that _definitely_ cutting it too close,” he says flatly.

“Trying to do what?” Donna half-gasps, half-groans, gritting her teeth through the pain. “ _What_ are you on about?”

The Doctor heaves an exasperated sigh. “This,” he says, fumbling inside his coat pocket for a moment and withdrawing a small black velvet box. He pulls it open to reveal an exquisitely faceted diamond ring with a circle of glittering blue sapphires framing the stone. Donna’s eyes grow wide at the sight of it.

“What the hell is that?!” she cries.

The Doctor swallows, “It’s… it’s an engagement ring,” he stammers nervously.

“I can see it’s an engagement ring, you idiot,” Donna cries, “you’re proposing _now_? Your timing sucks!”

“I know,” the Doctor whines, raising her hands to his neck as he absently kneads her back, “but in my own defence, I’ve been trying to do it since we got here. I mean, I wanted to do it yesterday at breakfast, but you got sick. So I thought I’d try again at the cafe, but a bloody _Slitheen_ showed up! Then tonight, back in the room-”

“Blizzard. Avalanche. Yeah,” Donna gasps, nodding rapidly through the pain, “we’re on the same page. So just ask me already.”

“Oh right,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Will you marry me, Donna.”

“It depends,” Donna says, blinking sweat from her eyes as the baby pokes her in the diaphragm.

The Doctor blinks. “Depends on what?” he asks.

“On why you’re asking,” Donna says.

“What do you want a list?”

“A list would be nice yeah,” Donna says, stiffening through another contraction, “and none of the reasons can be because you accidentally got me up the duff and now you feel all guilty about it.”

The Doctor’s mouth quirks slightly at that. “Not on the list,” he says softly, caressing Donna’s flushed cheek.

“Well, why then?” she asks.

“I want to marry you Donna Noble,” the Doctor says softly, “because you make me laugh and you make me think.” He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a simple white handkerchief, which he uses to gently wipe the sweat from her flushed face. “Because you ask _really_ difficult questions,” Donna chuckles slightly at that. “Because you never let me get away with anything. Because you have absolutely no idea how truly spectacular you really are. Because I can’t imagine being without you. Because you make me want to be a better man, but mostly it’s because,” he says, taking Donna’s clammy hands in his, “I’ve fallen in love with you Donna. Completely. Hopelessly. The truth is, I’m still falling.”

“Oh my Dear,” Muriel Flemming murmurs as the rest of the passengers look on in mesmerised silence, “how heavenly.”

Donna finds herself laughing and crying all at once as Muriel grins at her. “Really?” she asks, her eyes returning to his face.

“Oh yes,” the Doctor says, grinning now.

Donna gasps, tearfully throwing her arms around his neck, “I… I love you too,” she cries, “I was afraid to say it, to even think it really, because I wasn’t sure how you felt, but I do. I love you. So much.”

The Doctor chuckles, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss that ends a few seconds later when another contraction takes hold and the rest of the passengers break into spontaneous applause. Donna hisses in pain, breaking away from him as her belly cramps painfully.

“So, it’s a yes then?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course it’s a yes,” Donna nods, crying and laughing and moaning all at once.

He takes the ring from the box and slips it onto her finger, or tries to anyway. Her fingers are so swollen with late-pregnancy water retention it doesn’t fit.

“Just… push it,” Donna says, gritting her teeth, but he can’t seem to slide it past her swollen knuckle. Her eyes narrow slightly, as she looks up at him, “just the way I always imagined this moment,” she says tartly, “sweaty and bloated. It’s like a dream come true.”

“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” he says, patting his pockets until he locates the sonic screwdriver. He changes a setting on it and points it at the ring, the familiar whirring filling the compartment. Donna can feel the ring becoming decidedly less snug as the Doctor slides it the rest of the way down her finger.

“Expanded the molecular bonds in the metal,” he says, simply.

Donna gasps as her back and belly cramp in a tight band of pain. The contractions are coming hard and fast now. She barely has time to catch her breath between them.

“Right,” the Doctor says, cheerfully, “Reverend Holiday, would you mind doing the honours?”

“What, you want to get married _now_?” Donna gasps.

“Yeah, well I sort of promised your mum we’d do it before the baby came,” he says somewhat sheepishly.

“You spoke to my mum?”

“Well, it _is_ traditional isn’t it, for the groom to ask the parents permission for their daughter’s hand in marriage. Not to mention I thought it would be the prudent thing to do seeing as how your mum you know, hates me, and owns an axe.”

“No,” Donna says, her back cramping painfully, “I mean you promised my mum we’d get married before the baby came and didn’t think to run it by me first?”

“Oh right,” the Doctor says, swallowing nervously, “in retrospect I can see how that might have seemed like the proper thing to do at the time, but… have I mentioned that I’m complete rubbish at this?!”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever,” she says, hissing in pain at the nearly constant contractions wracking her body, “let’s just do it already. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep crossing my legs.” 

The rest of the passengers happily descend on them, offering their congratulations with light kisses to Donna’s flushed cheeks and hearty slaps on the Doctor’s back. Muriel Flemming gathers all the pink carnations from the kitchen vases to make Donna a bouquet. Maya and Sophia, the ginger cat couple, offer her the ribbons from Maya’s sleeves to tie back her disheveled hair for something borrowed. Trent gives her his lucky silver piece to place in her slipper. The ring is both old and blue. That just leaves something new.

“Something new, right,” the Doctor says, holding up his hand and the delicate silver chain dangling from it. “I got this for you today, in between signing forms of course,” he says, wrinkling his nose distastefully as he fastens the delicate clasp at the back of Donna’s neck. 

She looks down at the powder blue gem at her throat, cut into the shape of a glimmering sky dancer. “It’s beautiful,” she gasps, recovering her breath between contractions. 

“It is,” the Doctor agrees, “now that you’re wearing it.”

Another contraction and Donna stiffens, crushing her impromptu bouquet against his neck as he pulls her up onto her toes, swaying rhythmically with her as he gently massages her back. Somehow she’d never pictured the slow dancing at her wedding quite like this.

“Off you go then Vicar,” the Doctor says cheerfully, as the Reverend Holiday stands stiffly in the aisle before them, holding his little leather bound prayer book somewhat awkwardly in front of his face to accommodate the stiff brace around his neck.

“Dearly beloved,” the Reverend Holiday intones solemnly, “we are gathered here today in the face of this company-”

Donna cries out as another contraction takes hold, burying her face in the Doctor’s shoulder as she struggles to catch her breath.

The Doctor looks up, his brown eyes wide. “Yeah, probably best just to cut to the chase eh Vicar? There’s a good man.”

“Oh, right,” the Reverend says, awkwardly thumbing through his little book as if flustered by the sudden break in rhythm. “Right, here we are,” he says, suddenly looking up. “Do you…” he says, looking expectantly at Donna, having apparently forgotten her name.

“Donna Constance Noble,” Donna says, breathlessly.

“Constance?” the Doctor asks.

“What’s wrong with Constance?” she gasps, another contraction tightening her belly.

“Nothing,” he says, “it’s very pretty.” His eyes narrow thoughtfully, “mind you, it _does_ sound a bit like Constantinople if you say it very fast.”

Donna glares at him as they slowly sway together. “Sorry” he says, swallowing sheepishly, “did I say that out loud?”

“Ahem,” the Reverend mutters, eyeing them both with a half cocked eyebrow, “as I was saying. Do you Donna Constance Noble take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” Donna says, smiling shyly as the Doctor grins back at her.

“And do you Doctor…” he falters, eyeing the Doctor expectantly.

“Varian,” the Doctor says softly, his eyes locked with Donna’s.

“Do you Doctor Varian-”

“No,” the Doctor says, glancing back at him, “no Doctor, just Varian.”

“Varian?” Donna asks, testing the word on her tongue as another contraction wracks her back with pain.

“Yes,” he says softly, his long fingers gently kneading the small of her back.

“That’s your name?”

“Yes,” he says, “well, no. Not exactly. My _full_ name is a deal longer and more inexplicable frankly, I’ll tell you that later when we’re alone, but Varian is the name my mum gave me.”

“Varian,” Donna says thoughtfully, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth to ease the pain. She smiles slightly, “Vari.”

The Doctor frowns suddenly. “No, don’t, don’t call me Vari,” he says, shaking his head, “just don’t.”

Donna smirks at him, grimacing suddenly when another contraction takes hold within moments of the last. 

“Right, back to the ceremony,” the Doctor says, slowly swaying with her, turning his head to regard the decidedly flustered looking Reverend.

“I say, are you two _quite_ sure about this?” he asks, “Not that I’m against these modern arrangements of course, but it _is_ generally expected that the bride and groom at least know each other’s names before marrying.”

“Oh well, you know,” the Doctor shrugs, “cultural differences and all that. It’s fine. Just keep going.”

“Yes but-”

“Keep going!” they shout together, Donna gasping as a tight band of pain radiates down through her belly and into her upper thighs.

“Do…” the Reverend continues with a start, “do you Varian take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The Doctor grins. “You bet I do,” he says and Donna smiles and groans as he wipes the sweat from her face with his handkerchief.

“The rings?” 

“Rings. Right,” the Doctor blinks, rifling through his coat pockets and emerging with a pair of plain gold bands.

“Biodampers?” Donna gasps.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says contritely, “Jack’s got the real ones.”

“Jack?”

“In New Vienna,” the Doctor explains, “there’s this little chapel… it doesn’t really matter, but Jack and Martha and Mickey are waiting for us there.”

“What, Martha and Mickey as well?” Donna gasps, her fingers splayed out across her tightly contracting belly.

“Why not,” the Doctor says, raising her hands to his neck as he lifts her onto her toes, “we stood up for them at _their_ wedding.”

“If you’re quite finished?” the Reverend Holiday say, flatly.

“Oh that’s all right Vicar,” the Doctor says mildly, “I know this bit.” He takes Donna’s hand in his. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he says, gently sliding the gold band onto her trembling finger.

Donna’s eyes fill with tears as the Doctor hands her the other ring and she shakily slides it onto his finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” she says, her voice choked with emotion.

She cries out as another contraction takes hold and something within her abruptly changes, her entire body trembling with the sudden overwhelming compulsion to take the tight clenching pain radiating downward through her belly and do something with it. 

“Oh, oh my God,” she gasps, her voice high pitched and panicked, her trembling hands scrabbling at the lapels of the Doctor’s coat, “it’s… it’s… changed… I have to… I need to... push!”

“Then, by the power vested in me by the office of the Triumvirate Ministry of the Third Galactic Empire,” the Reverend Holiday quickly babbles, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Donna’s knees go suddenly weak and the Doctor sweeps her into his arms, brushing her lips with his as her body trembles urgently against him. 

“I love you,” he says softly, breaking into a sudden grin, “now let’s have a baby.”

The world seems to blur around her as the other passengers and staff burst into a flurry of activity. Someone drapes a clean sheet over the shallowly sloping Formica table that the Doctor pointed out earlier and Donna suddenly finds herself deposited onto it. Muriel Flemming holds her hand for moral support as the Doctor eases off her soggy pyjama bottoms and gently spreads her legs, wiping away some of the amniotic fluid dribbling between her trembling thighs with a thick white towel. 

“All right Donna,” he says, slipping on his glasses, his coat and suit jacket draped over the back of the paisley covered booth and his stethoscope dangling from his neck, just like a proper doctor. “You’re fully dilated. When the next contraction starts, I need you to push!”

~~~

It’s not like in the movies. She doesn’t start pushing and then 20 minutes later have a smiling baby in her arms. She’s at it for hours, her arms trembling with the effort to hold herself upright as she pushes with all her might. Several passengers count off the seconds as the contractions build to a rolling peak of clenching pain before gradually subsiding, only to start again half a minute later.

In between contractions, she falls back against the table, panting with exhaustion as Muriel Flemming gives her crushed ice to suck on and wipes the sweat from her face with a cool cloth soaked in one of the pots of water Cavendish has brought out from the kitchen. 

The Doctor presses his stethoscope to her labouring belly, keeping tabs on the baby’s heartbeat and Donna’s blood pressure with the blood pressure cuff from the medical kit. He repeatedly tells her they’re both doing fine in that infuriatingly calm and soothing voice of his. Donna has the irresistible urge to slap him.

She doesn’t feel as if she’s doing fine at all. She’s not even sure what she’s doing is right. As she props herself up on violently trembling arms, another contraction cresting like a wave over her, she wonders if there’s anything at all to this whole pushing thing. 

At some point, the lights go out and the rest of the passengers faces disappear into the shadows as they crowd around the Doctor with their torches held before him. Donna doesn’t even care about being exposed in front of them. Another contraction takes hold and her world diminishes to a single painful moment in which she can’t remember a time when she wasn’t here. When she wasn’t in labor. When she wasn’t pushing. When she wasn’t in pain.

“That’s it,” she cries, falling back against the table, her hand covering her forehead as she begins to sob pitifully, “I can’t do this anymore. If he won’t come out, then let him stay in there. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Oh you can’t give up now Dear,” Muriel tells her, wiping away the tears rolling down her cheeks with cool water, “not when you’re doing so well.”

Donna screws her eyes shut, refusing to listen. She whimpers through the next contraction too exhausted to move. She hears the creak of metal as the Doctor stands up and knows he’s leaning over her. His cool hand covering hers and gently withdrawing it from her face.

“Donna,” he says softly, his face inches from hers.

“No,” Donna sobs, refusing to open her eyes.

“Donna, look at me.”

“No,” she insists, if she looks him in the eyes, she’ll only end up doing whatever he asks.

“Donna please.”

Almost against her will, Donna’s eyes open and lock with his. The Doctor flashes her a sympathetic smile, running a wet cloth over her sweaty face and smoothing her damp hair back from her forehead.

“I know you’re tired,” he says, very softly. Donna sobs raising her head slightly to lean against his, “I know it feels as if you’ve been doing this forever without getting anywhere, but I promise you, you are _so_ close. Just a few minutes longer and he’ll be here, but you have to keep going.”

“I can’t,” Donna cries, whimpering through another contraction, her fingernails digging into the Doctor’s bony shoulder.

“Yes, you can,” he says, “you can do this Donna.”

“You can do it Dear,” Muriel says, squeezing Donna’s hand, her eyes luminous in the shadowy darkness. The rest of the passengers adding their soft words of encouragement as well.

“No,” she insists, pitifully.

The Doctor takes her face in both his hands, his warm brown eyes like ancient fountains that flow forever. “You can do this Donna,” he says softly. “You can do anything.”

Donna closes her eyes, sobbing through the tight bands of pain gripping her belly for a moment more before abruptly pulling herself together. “Okay,” she says, nodding determinedly as she wipes the tears from her eyes with trembling hands, “okay.” 

He kisses her forehead as she struggles to raise herself up and winces slightly, her arms aching and sore from the prolonged strain.

“Nelson,” the Doctor suddenly calls out to the boy mountain skulking across the aisle, “get over here and prop Donna up.”

“Huh?” 

The Doctor frowns, “Sit behind her and let her lean against you,” he says, as if explaining to a very small child, “come on, come on, I haven’t got all day you know.”

Nelson’s expression turns somewhat pained as a dozen or so narrow beams of torch light suddenly illuminate his face.

“I’m not gonna see anything gross am I?” he grumbles sourly.

The Doctor’s eyes narrow slightly, “Nelson you do plan on getting married yourself one day? Having a family of your own?” 

Nelson shrugs. “I guess,” he says.

“Well, then stop being such a big girl’s blouse about it and get over here!”

Muriel Flemming grins into her hand, “ _tough love_ ,” she murmurs so that only Donna can hear.

The boy rolls his luminous eyes and stomps over, his thick steel toed boots echoing softly against the curving walls of the compartment. He steps up onto the seat beside his grandmother, then climbs onto the table and takes a seat behind Donna. His wide chest supporting her back and his long legs framing hers as she squats on the table, his heavy boots dangling from the end.

“Okay Donna,” the Doctor says, returning to his seat, “here we go. When the next contraction starts, I need you to push!”

So she does. She pushes through the exhaustion and the pain, through the rest of the passengers counting down the seconds and murmuring blithe words of encouragement to her as she strains, through Muriel Flemming gently squeezing her hand during each contraction and the Doctor’s soft voice telling her she’s nearly there and the tops of Nelson’s smelly boots brushing her bare feet. 

She pushes through it all until something inside her abruptly changes again and she can _feel_ it happening. She can _feel_ the baby moving inside her, down into her pelvis and beyond, as the contractions bleed together into one long stretching sensation she’d be powerless to stop even if she tried. She isn’t even pushing anymore, her body is doing it all by itself, giving birth to a brand new life. She’s just along for the ride.

“Oh my God,” Donna gasps, overwhelmed by the sensations running through her.

“I can see the head,” the Doctor cries excitedly, abruptly standing, “just one more push Donna, that’s it!”

And the stretching turns to stinging and the stinging turns to burning and grows in intensity until it feels as if Donna is sitting on the sun. 

“Don’t push, don’t push,” the Doctor suddenly cries and Donna gasps, blinking sweat as she glares at him.

“You’re kidding right?”

“Just for a second,” he says, “just breathe. He’s got a big head and I don’t want you to tear.”

“Course’ he’s got a big head,” Donna gasps, trembling with the effort to contain the sun’s rays within her, “he’s _yours_ isn’t he?”

The Doctor’s mouth quirks slightly, narrow torch beams illuminating his pale face like a halo from beneath as the heat between her legs intensifies and Donna suddenly feels as if she _is_ the sun, glowing with golden energy she can no longer contain.

“Okay Donna,” he says, “one more push should do it.” 

She raises herself up, crying out as her body explodes in one final convulsive effort and suddenly he’s there. Separate from her. Sliding into the Doctor’s waiting hands, red and screaming and beautiful.

“Is he all right?” she gasps, falling back against Nelson’s damp chest in utter exhaustion.

“He’s perfect,” the Doctor says, his voice cracking raggedly, “Ten fingers. Ten toes. Great big gob, just like his old man.” 

He’s crying. Tears spilling from his eyes as the baby squirms indignantly in his arms, and Donna is as well. She’s crying, because she’s herself again and so much more now. Donna Noble. Citizen of _Earth_. Native of London. Temp from Chiswick. Wife and witness to an intergalactic space wanderer’s life and mother of a beautiful son. 

She watches the Doctor cut the cord and clean him up by torchlight, the rest of the passengers murmuring and cooing around him. He wraps the baby in clean linens and rocks him for a moment until he settles.

“Welcome to the universe Alexander,” he murmurs thoughtfully, staring in wonder at the little face staring back at him with practically the same expression, before breaking into a sudden grin “you’re gonna love it.”

He blinks, swiping the tears from his eyes with his fingers. Leaning towards Donna and showering her flushed face with kisses. She laughs, caressing his stubble covered cheek for a moment before he carefully transfers Alexander into her arms, his forehead falling against hers as they both look at him. He’s dark like the Doctor and gazing back at her with her own green-blue eyes.

“Look what we did,” she murmurs in wonder, brushing his tiny cheek with the back of her hand, “we made a person.”

“ _Yeah_ we did,” the Doctor says, smiling proudly. Both of them chuckling when Alexander yawns hugely and closes his eyes, one right after the other.

Thick beams of white light stream in through the snow caked windows, bouncing off the curving walls and illuminating everyone inside to grey silhouettes.

“That’ll be the rescue buses,” Mr. Carson says, awkwardly clearing his throat when his voice cracks with emotion, “we’d best get out there and meet them.” He nods at each of the young porters in turn, “Trent. Valentine.”

The Doctor breaks away from her, cleaning her up by torchlight before the emergency personnel arrive. She feels something. An intense tightening pain that ends in a single convulsive thrust as her body expels the placenta. And just like that, she knows it’s done. Her work is finished. The baby in her arms no longer living inside her body, but inside her heart. The Doctor palpates her belly, still swollen but empty now, and the profound sense of relief filling her is tempered with a touch of sadness at his loss. 

He covers her half-naked body with a sheet then tells Nelson to shove off, taking his place behind Donna on the table. She leans into his chest, feeling as if she could sleep for a week, her eyes falling on the rings glinting softly on her finger by the light of a dozen or so roaming torch beams.

“Still falling Spaceman?” she asks softly, as his hand moves to clasp hers around the baby in her arms.

“Head over heels,” he says simply.

Donna smiles slightly. “You’ll be sure to let me know when you hit bottom,” she says wryly.

“Oh anytime,” the Doctor says, chuckling softly, “in the next fifty or sixty years.”

Not his lifetime. But theirs. Together. Donna looks down at the slumbering baby in her arms, his tiny face translucent in the powerful white torch beams of the rescue personnel streaming onto the train, and smiles. 

It’s enough.

~END~


End file.
